Solace
by SpadesJade
Summary: COMPLETE! Sequel to "Soulless." Life with a sociopathic contract killer isn't all fun and games. Vincent and Victoria run into more than one kind of trouble. Detective Fanning isn't dead, and Claudia wants some revenge. Rating for violence.
1. Backtrack

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Vincent, Detective Fanning, Max, Annie, Pedrosa, Zee, or anybody from the movie Collateral. I do own Claudia, although no one else wants her, and I do own Victoria, although she isn't here right now. So leave a review at the beep!**_

A/N: All right, I just couldn't wait to post the new story. So sue me. Actually, don't sue me, I have no money. So, this is the direct sequel to Soulless, so if you haven't read Soulless, you really want to becuase this won't make complete sense otherwise. Although if you're good at picking things up fast, you could probably give this first chapter a try. Anyway, without further ado....

_**Backtrack**_

One did not just get up and walk away after an encounter like the one Max and Annie had had on that MTA. Sure, they walked for a while, but Annie, the solid voice of reason, spoke up.

"We have to go to the police."

Max was uncomfortable with this idea. "You know, they think I'm him."

Annie gave him that look again. She'd given him that look two times more that evening, but they'd been in the process of running for their lives at the time, so she hadn't been able to pursue it.

"Okay, Max, you gotta tell me, now. Tell me everything."

So he did. How Vincent got into his cab. About the poor fat guy who took a nose dive onto the roof of his taxi. How Vincent had forced him to help him put the dead guy into the trunk of the cab and drive him to the next stop. How he'd been nearly mugged in an attempt to attract attention, and Vincent had shown up, shot the perpetrators, and given him back his wallet. He told her about the jazz club and Daniel. He told her about going to see his mother, how he had stolen Vincent's briefcase and destroyed it by tossing it onto a busy street, where it was run over by a truck. How Vincent had made him go into a club to see Felix, and pretend that he was Vincent himself, to get the work-ups for the last two hits of the night, the very last being Annie.

This was the part Annie was very interested in. "How did you do it?" she asked, incredulous. "How did you convince those guys you were Vincent."

Max was uncomfortable with this question. "I just did it. I had to do it."

"But why didn't you walk away? Go for help? You had ten minutes, you could have -"

"If I'd gone back to that car without the stuff he wanted, he would have shot me, and then shot my mother on the way out of town."

Annie considered this. "It doesn't make sense. Why would he keep you around for so long? I mean...especially that stuff you told me about how he stood up for you when your dispatcher was giving you hell, that is really strange." She rubbed the skin between her eyes. "God, I need some sleep. Look," she said, her hand going into the air, "we're going to the police, and that is that. I work for the Justice department, they'll listen to me. We'll clear this up."

"There was a cop who believed me," Max said softly.

Annie whipped around, looked at him. "Who is he? Do you know how to reach him?"

"He's dead."

Annie closed her mouth.

"Vincent shot him," Max continued. "As we were coming out of Fever. Everybody else thought I was Vincent, but he believed me and was going to get me out. For it, he got two in the chest and one in the head."

Annie nodded, drawing a shaky breath. "What was his name?" she asked.

"Fanning."

She nodded again. "Don't worry about it, Max. You saved me, now I'm going to save you. We'll work this out." She took his hand, squeezed it. "Okay? His body is floating around on the MTA, they'll pick it up, your story will be confirmed by it. OUR story," she added, giving him another squeeze. "Trust me, okay?"

He gave her a tired look, but he nodded. He would trust her. Right now, she was probably the only person in this world that he would ever trust again.

* * *

He'd been wearing a vest. Kevlar, best stuff on earth. The third bullet had grazed his temple as he'd been falling, possibly doing more damage than the two that had broken a few ribs.

Detective Ray Fanning, narcotics division, woke up in the hospital several hours after Max and Annie had found a police station and reported their story, in an amount of pain that morphine could only dull, not kill. But he was alive. He had a huge, bloody scar on his forehead and felt like he could barely breathe, but he was alive.

"Thank God," Richard was saying, the man popping out of his seat and coming over to the bed. "You crazy fucker, you know how goddam lucky you are?"

Fanning groaned in a vain attempt to right himself. "What...what happened?"

"I wasn't there," Richard said with a shake of his head, "but my guess is that that Vincent guy tried to take you out, and the only thing that saved you was this." He held up the Kevlar vest with the bullets embedded in it.

If he'd had the energy, Fanning would have reached out to kiss it like a holy cloth. "Holy shit," he groaned.

"Yeah. The one on your forehead nearly did some damage, but the doctors seem to think you'll be your old asshole self again in a few days." A pause, hesitancy, not sure if he should continue. Fanning looked up at him through hazy eyes.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Well...turns out that your guy Max saved a district prosecutor, lady named Annie Farrell. They went into the 113th this morning just after dawn and laid their story on a night detective, and when your name came up, they called us. That's why I got involved, basically. Turns out they back up your theory, that he's not the shooter. The prosecutor confirmed it." He cleared his throat, still uncomfortable.

"But..." Fanning pressed.

"But, they claimed that they somehow managed to kill the guy on the blue line going into Long Beach, that he was sitting on one of the trains with a bullet hole in his chest. Problem is, we've been searching all the trains since the call came in, and there's no body. There's blood, but no body."

"So they didn't kill him," Fanning said.

"Either that, or somehow this Max is brainwashing this girl into thinking he's her hero, in order to save his own neck."

Fanning gave him a disdainful look. "Yeah...guy like that is going to convince a woman, by the way, who happens to be a district prosecutor-have you even _met_ Annie Farrell?"

Richard shook his head. "You?"

"Once or twice. Piece of work. I would hate to be the guy who tried to muscle her."

"So you're still sticking to your earlier story," Richard said.

"'Course I am, because it's right." He was getting irritable, his voice carrying. Within a few minutes a nurse was in the room, checking his IV, chastising Richard for upsetting a patient.

"Look, I'll keep you updated," Richard said, his tone much softer now. "But you gotta get better, man. They'll probably be around to ask you a lot of questions. Did you see the guy who shot you?"

"No," Fanning said, closing his eyes.

"Well, think hard. Otherwise, the word of a District Prosecutor may not be enough to keep Max from being brought up on charges."

Fanning opened his eyes. "Wait...do you believe me?" he asked. "You didn't before." 

"Something about all of this just doesn't sit right with me," Richard agreed. "I think...maybe...you might be right."

Fanning almost smiled. "So much for there being nothing in it for you."

"Maybe there isn't, but it's still my job. Get some rest. I'll see ya." And he left him alone to think.

* * *

Agent Frank Pedrosa had been shot before. Even in the leg. It was always dangerous, taking a bullet in the leg, but he'd known right away that it wasn't fatal. The artery had been missed, and it had taken a big chunk of fat right out from above his knee. It bled like hell, but they were able to patch him up. Against doctor's orders, he was on his feet again within a few days, even though he needed a cane. He was rather fond of his cane, as it had been his grandfather's, and made of a thick, sturdy wood, topped with sleek stainless steel in the shape of an elephant's trunk.

"How you doing, boss?" Zee greeted him from her desk as he returned to it. He gave her one of his trademark smirks, barely lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Well, I feel like I've been shot, but other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"

Zee shook her head. Agent Zee Ricardo hadn't been with him long, but she was good. Very sharp, rarely missed anything. Of all the partners he'd had, she was probably his favorite. Even more than old Teddy Jackson, God rest his soul, who had taken him under his wing and taught him everything he knew. No, Zee was even better than him, with her dark eyes that missed nothing, her ears which dismissed nothing, and her mouth, which never opened without a damn good reason.

"Any news for me?" Pedrosa asked as he shuffled through his old mail. Most of that shit could wait, Zee knew damn well what he was talking about.

"We got a call from C. You want to go meet her?"

Pedrosa looked up. "C called in?" He paled a little. "That can't be good news."

Zee shook her head, a small grin curling her lips. "Shakespeare is dead. Shot in the throat."

Pedrosa slammed his fist down on his desk. "Dammit!"

Zee shrugged. "You know, if you look on the bright side -"

"Yeah, major player out, yadda yadda. But he was the only major player willing to give us suppliers."

"Probably why he's dead." Zee gave an indifferent shrug. Another thing he liked about her, she never got excited, even over really bad news. "But there is a bright side."

"Oh?" Pedrosa perked up.

"We still have Felix." She looked up at him, her dark eyes smiling.

"How? All the witnesses were executed!"

"But we still have Annie Farrell. She was number five on that list, and she made it out alive. We've also got the cab driver, who, it turns out, was telling the truth. He's not our meat-eating super assassin. According to C., it's a guy who goes by the name of Vincent."

Pedrosa had been looking at her, one hand supporting his chin on his desk. "You mean... C knows him?"

Zee nodded, smiling slowly. "This isn't over yet, boss. We've still got a pretty thick string."

* * *

A little after noon, when people were on their lunch hours and traffic was starting to slow, Pedrosa and Zee pulled up outside of a bar called "Jedediah's." It was an unusual place, busy but not packed, even at this time of the day. People ate their lunches in quiet corners, knowing they wouldn't be disturbed. The waitresses went about their work silently, as nothing could be heard over the loud blast of jazz that came from the jukebox in the center of the place. There was a raised section of seats, and all the way in the back was a curved corner table, occupied by a single person, with long, straight, white hair.

Pedrosa had to lumber up the short flight of stairs on his cane, and Zee stayed behind him, knowing it simply wouldn't do to have her getting to the table ahead of him. When he managed, he gave the occupant of that table a singularly annoyed look.

"Couldn't you have picked a floor table, Claudia?" he said as he slipped in beside her. Zee took the other side.

Claudia smiled. She had a thin white bandage over her nose, holding the cartilage in place while it healed. Her arm was in a sling under her black jacket, which didn't go over the other arm, either. There was just the hint of a bandage on her opposing shoulder. "Sorry, I don't like people seeing me when I'm not my best," she said, her voice low key.

"Then why did you call?" Zee asked in her flat, no nonsense voice.

Claudia shot her a look. "You're a real party, Agent Ricardo. You know, why don't you go out into the street and get hit by a car? Then you can come back and join the rest of us wounded in the line of duty."

Zee's reply was a sharp smile of her own.

"Talk to us, Claudia," Pedrosa said, finished with the banter. "What happened?"

She sighed. Her large, ice-blue eyes rolled heavenward as she swirled her Long Island Iced Tea. "Well, where shall I start?"

"You were supposed to be watching Shakespeare," Zee said. "Make sure none of the hits that were contracted were carried out. You had a ten for ten record, until number eleven came along. What happened?"

The penciled eyebrows narrowed onto Zee. "Okay, fine. I can see you're no fun. Truth is, neither am I. Things were going well. But there was a problem. A man named Vincent go involved. Meat-eater, like me."

The two agents exchanged looks. That couldn't be a coincidence. "Vincent?" Pedrosa echoed.

"The name has come up," Zee said.

Pedrosa added, "If he's the same Vincent, he's responsible for a series of hits in our case against Felix."

"Really?" Claudia said slowly, with great interest. "That explains what he was doing in town in the first place."

"He took out all our witnesses, almost got our prosecutor as well," Zee continued. "What about him?"

"Turns out, I know him. From a long time ago."

Pedrosa's eared perked up, and Zee's eyes actually widened. "How?" she asked.

"We were in a half-way home together. After my incarceration, he was still hanging around. He'd already been brought in, I followed pretty close after." She shrugged. "Vincent's funny...real sociopath. Not that I have any right to judge him. It was good, and then it wasn't, so I left. Didn't see hide nor hair of him for almost fifteen years. Then, I'm checking out some leads on Marcus' favorite doctor, a Victoria Potter. Shakespeare was worried about her, had heard that people might want to try to use her to get to him. He was smart, he never let her see where he lived, but that didn't mean her life was in any less danger. So I went to her ex-husband's home, things went kind of sour there, and then she showed up, with Vincent. Turns out that some guys from the other side tried to get her to take them to Shakespeare's home, she didn't know, they almost killed her, but Vincent interfered. Marcus has a scanner in his home, there was a big stink about four bodies at Victoria's illegal medical office buried deep in the backways. Then Vincent...I don't know what the hell he was doing, looked like he was protecting her. They were shacked up in a hotel room just east of the airport."

"Why?" Pedrosa asked.

"That would really be a question for him," Claudia said. There was a glint in her eye. "Although, if I had to guess, I think he's sweet on her."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Zee asked.

Claudia leaned closer to her. "Okay, Zee, listen carefully. You know what I am, don't you? The only difference between me and Vincent is that I work for you. People like us don't have relationships, we have liabilities. And if she's still with him, he's got a major liability hanging around."

"I don't see how we can use this," Pedrosa murmured. "I mean, obviously Vincent got past you-"

"He didn't get past me," Claudia snapped. "Marcus wouldn't listen to me about security. He tried to be all big and heroic by trying to trick Vincent into thinking he was going to pay him off." She paused. "I couldn't blow my cover, Pedrosa. You know that."

"True." He sighed, looked out toward the street. "So Shakespeare is dead and we're barely holding a case together against Felix. What do you want to do about it, Claudia?"

"You said he's responsible for killing your witnesses?" Claudia asked. "How do you know for sure? Did any of you see him?"

"He kidnapped a cabbie. He witnessed...a lot," Zee said quietly.

Claudia absorbed this news. "I can find Vincent," she finally said. "If you want, I can bring him in. If the cabbie is willing to testify against what he saw, or at least threaten to, we can get Vincent over a barrel. Anyone else?"

"Yeah, the district prosecutor, Annie Farrell," Pedrosa said. "She was last on his list. The cabbie supposedly saved her."

"Then there we go," Claudia said. "That's two. Vincent won't have any choice but to testify that Felix contracted him to kill those people, unless he wants to go to jail. And I can promise you, he doesn't."

"Seems to me," Zee said, "that all of this depends on you even being able to get Vincent into a position where he would have to choose. How do you propose to do that?"

Claudia smiled. "I need to know everything there is to know about Dr. Victoria Potter."

* * *

Two weeks passed. Fanning returned to his job, nice and cushy at his desk for a while. They had wanted him to take leave, but he wanted some kind of resolution with the Felix case. He sorted through files, he read through reports, and he found nothing.

The Feds had had it in the first place, and they weren't going to let it go.

It was infuriating. The only comfort he took was in learning that Max was okay. He thought he should pay the man a visit, let him know that he, too, was alive. After all, Vincent had shot him three times, twice in the chest. He'd fallen over like a trimmed tree. No doubt, Max probably thought he was dead. Nobody bothered to tell civilians when cops survived messes like that.

His car had been impounded, but Richard had been nice enough to pull the right strings and get it out for him. It was waiting for him in the work lot, keys on his desk. He got in gingerly and started it up.

And someone slipped in from the other side. Someone dressed entirely in black. With long, white hair.

"Can I help you?" Fanning said, his hand going to his gun as the woman turned and smiled at him, her eyes shielded by sunglasses.

"No, but I can help you, Detective Fanning," she said. "My name is Claudia. I believe you and I have a mutual friend, Vincent?"

Fanning paled. "You know Vincent?"

"I don't just know him, Detective," she said, removing her glasses. "I know where he is. Is there somewhere we can go and talk?" She looked around. "Somewhere good for both of us?"

Fanning started up the car. "There's a restaurant in Park and Lincoln. Not too many people go there. You've got fifteen minutes to convince me not to arrest you and have you thrown into St. Lucy's."

* * *

A/N: All right, all right, I hear you. _Where is Vincent? He wasn't in this chapter! Don't you know that's the only reason I read this story? For Vincent, the hottie assassin guy? _Well, don't worry, he's right here. Say Hi, Vincent.

Vincent: Hi.

Me: After the last story, he needed a bit of a vacation. Right, sweetie?

Vincent: Uh...yeah. (Looks all around, very uncomfortable)

Me: So where did you go?

Vincent: That's...classified.

Me: You don't work for the government, you're in the private sector now. You can tell.

Vincent: No, I can't. Look, I really don't like these interviews.

Me: Oh, sorry, I forgot. You like to be in control. That's cool.

Vincent: Yeah. Well, I gotta go now. Although, there is a question I'd like to ask you.

Me: You want to ask me a question?

Vincent: Yeah, and if you get it right, you can come with me to this new jazz club I've found.

Me: Oh, wow. Well, go ahead, ask your question.

Vincent: Where did Miles Davis learn music?

Me: Uh...who's Miles Davis?

Vincent: (Goes completely and utterly psychopathicly insanely angry) YOU DON'T KNOW WHO MILES DAVIS IS??? (starts to throw chairs around and step on things, making them break.)

Me: Holy shit...you know, the crazy-killer act is a lot cuter when it's not happening right in front of me. I'm gonna run now, you guys enjoy the next chapter of the story!

Vincent: HEY, YOU WAIT! I'M NOT PLAYING WITH YOU!

Me: Okay, Vinne, go play with them. (points to the readers) Maybe one of them knows who Miles Davis is.

Vincent: (to reviewers) Well, if you do, you'd better review!

Me: You heard the man! (ducks out of sight as Vincent throws another chair) Review!


	2. Drawbacks

_**Don't own Vincent. As you can see from the last chapter, NOBODY owns Vincent. Heh.**_

A/N: Okay, I'm going to have a little rant here. If you're just here for the story, feel free to skip it. Or come back later. But I just got done watching "Vanilla Sky." I haven't been so confused since "Matrix Reloaded." I mean, what the hell was going on? Wierd thing is, I kinda liked it. But...man, it was way out there. Waaaay. Out. Anyway, I knew this would happen. One good movie and suddenly I'm obsessed with Tom Cruise. I hope it passes after I get this story done. Oh well. I guess there are worse things in the world. Anyway, on with the show...

_**Drawbacks**_

Mexico was a temporary stop that turned out to take longer than Vincent had anticipated. But it only made sense. His contact was extremely pissed off at him because Felix was pissed off that Annie Farrell wasn't dead. However, it had put the indictment on hold for an indefinite time, so there was a small cushion of space between him and Felix's rage.

Not that Vincent was worried. Vincent didn't worry as a rule. He couldn't think of a single time in his life when he had ever worried. Not about anything. But there was the problem with his reputation. He did not like his reputation to be damaged.

In the long run, however, he had more important things to worry about.

Victoria knew that that meant her.

Living with a sociopath was not the easiest or hardest thing in the world. It was simply a matter of adjusting to an environment that was restrictive in some ways and completely laid back in others. For instance:

She knew where every single thing in the house was. There were no secrets, no stashes. She knew his catalogue of weapons and their hiding places, she knew his fast routes out, she knew who he knew and who he didn't know. She knew that the layout of the house was fine, whichever way she wanted it, as long as it didn't interfere with his ability to reach things easily. She was the queen of his castle. It was enough to make a girl blush with pride.

But there were drawbacks.

They had come here a month ago. The BMW they had stolen from Marcus Shakespeare's garage during their getaway had been sold upon their entry into Mexico, and the money was used to get a flight on a very small airplane that took them to what Victoria would only have described as a "God-forsaken place." That was at first glance. A careful study revealed a village of types, a community of several important people who wished to stay hidden, and a scattering of commoners to kept the economy running.

Victoria had been operating under a delusion, she knew that now. How easy it was, though, and she couldn't blame herself or Vincent for its creation. After all, how many girls in the world could credit themselves to be the sole object of the affections of a man like Vincent? He was polite, charming, friendly, and always cool, no matter what the circumstance.

Except when he went psycho. She'd seen in a few times, and was careful not to press the trigger that would make it go off again.

Of course, he was also a contract killer. Major drawback number one.

Major drawback number two: why had she ever gotten it into her head that he'd brought her with him to make her a permanent part of his life? What had she been thinking, that they were going to get married in a little chapel in a Mexican city, St. Margaret of the Goats, whatever? Vincent didn't really live inside society. That was one of the major trademarks of a sociopath. He lived in his own world, by his own creed, and didn't understand why others couldn't accept it. Sure, he could blend. He was good at blending. He was good at making small talk, acting polite, being warm to a person he'd just met and making them feel relaxed. One didn't know when those things came from his true self or when they were just an act, but Victoria knew. She didn't know when she'd learned the difference, it was like a small alarm going on inside her head. When he was faking, when he was serious. Lucky for her, he was usually serious with her.

So, here they were, in some little hideout in Mexico, and while Vincent's home was a veritable palace, she felt like it was her pretty little gilded cage, and she was his private whore. The religious person in her - the God-fearing person she had once told Vincent she was - said that it wasn't right, the way they lived. Her womanly instincts told her it was wrong, to just live off of him and have no serious commitment. But after the first conversation about it, Vincent made it clear: what was the use? They were together. They would stay together as long as they wanted. Why make ties over ties that were already there?

So, no marriage. As time passed, she began to realize the wisdom of his decision, but not for the reasons he thought. She'd been crazy to think she could just abandon her life and never look back. As the days passed, turned into weeks, then into a month, she found herself looking back more and more. She began to question herself - even if she did have feelings for Vincent, were they enough? If everyone in the world just lived according to their feelings, it would be hell on earth. There had to be other things in a relationship this intense.

Intense was an understatement.

Drawback number three: she was not allowed to complain about his work. He'd had one call for a job since they'd gotten there, in spite of the fact that he had pissed off employers breathing down the line. He'd gone to do the job and come back, all within three days. She'd hated it for two reasons. First, what if he didn't come back? And second, he was going to kill someone. The moral person in her couldn't bear it. The guilt kept her awake for the entire seventy-two hours that he was gone. When he came back, they had a fight. It was the last time Victoria would dare bring it up. He had never hit her, never even threatened to. The time he'd fired a gun at her, missing deliberately by a mile, had been the last violence she'd ever experienced at his hands. But Vincent didn't need to touch her or say cruel things to her to hurt her. The bonfire of his rage was quite enough. She knew if she wanted any peace in this life, she should never say a word about it again.

So instead, it just ate at her. Like a cancer.

Drawback number four: Vincent was not like any other boyfriend, who could be manipulated or argued with, given the circumstances. It was a common fact that men and women played their little power games. There were no power games with Vincent. If he didn't like something, there wasn't any compromise. Victoria's only refuge was in the fact that there were few things he felt so strongly about. Mostly, she had her way. But there were times...

At any rate, it wasn't a bad life, if you didn't examine it too closely. The house was beautiful, the weather was good at this time of year, and Vincent was a good lover. Considerate, thoughtful. She hesitated to make any moves on him, unsure as to what he wanted, but she rarely had to worry about it. By the end of the first month, she was nearly sure that things would work out somehow. That she would just get used to this life. That every family had secrets, difficulties, flaws. She had never expected perfection and knew she'd never get it, so she would take what happiness Vincent had to offer her and be done with it.

Problem with this plan of attack was, the more you pushed down what you really felt, the heavier it felt inside.

* * *

Victoria was shopping. There was a small market near the center of the makeshift village, lots of black market items that were only sold so openly there because the whole place was hidden from the mainstream. It was a busy enough of a place, but everyone was local. Tourists didn't come down here - if a white person was spotted, it meant only one thing: Money.

The weather was much more tropical than what Victoria was used to. She'd taken to wearing tank-tops and shorts with a brightly colored shawl draped and tied around her waist. She carried her money in her pocket, and was keenly aware that she was safer here than she would be in the middle of the most heavily-guarded jewelry shop in New York. Vincent, like the others around here who used this place as a private haven, had a reputation, that while vague, was clear enough to be dangerous. Nothing came in or out of this place without the right people knowing about it - she was quickly recognized and accepted as under Vincent's care.

There were problems...produce was rarely fresh. Other grocery goods she could get easily, but produce and frozen products were the hardest. So when she saw a shipment of bright green bananas, she practically ran over to the stand to buy herself a few pounds.

Her collage Spanish classes were fuzzy in her memory, but she was starting to get the hang of it again. The owner asked her if she needed assistance getting the bananas back to her home, or if she would like a delivery made. She thanked him, said no, and slung the heavy bag over her shoulder.

It was a bit of a trek back to Vincent's home - she just couldn't call it _her_ home, it felt wrong. She made it with a bit of a welt in her shoulder, but was too pleased with the haul of bananas to care. She found a clear spot on their counter in their huge kitchen and laid the bananas out.

There was the distinct sound of trumpets coming from the other room, down the winding hallways. Victoria half-smiled to herself. Vincent was having a love affair with jazz music. When she'd first viewed his CD collection, she didn't even recognize three quarters of the names. Sure, she'd heard of Chad Baxter and Charlie Parker, but she'd never been a fan.

"It's off melody, behind the notes. Not what's expected," Vincent had once said. She'd gotten an ear for it rather quickly. Right now, he was listening to Miles Davis. He seemed to like that one piece, he played it often.

He was always listening to jazz. It was either jazz or silence for him. Occasionally she could wrest control of the stereo system away from him when he was in an indulgent mood and play some of her own music - mostly instrumental, or female vocalists, like Sarah Mclauhlin, or Sara Brightman. She also had that Jem CD she'd knicked from the BMW. What a man like Marcus Shakespeare had been doing with that in his car, she'd never know. More than likely it belonged to his wife.

Living with Vincent wasn't a bad experience, her rational voice intoned. You just had to know the ground rules. And you had to get used to his habits. Like the jazz, all the time. At nights when he couldn't sleep, he either had jazz playing low in the background, or else he would have it playing on a CD-player with an earpiece. He didn't sleep much.

His book collection was rather different. Also jazz obsessed, but varied into all kinds of history. Allen had had his standard obsessions with WWII and the assassination of JFK, but Vincent was more into obscure pieces of history. Particularly the history of cities, like New Orleans or Chicago. Probably because they were heavy jazz centers.

Then there was the staring. It had made her uneasy for a while, but soon she grew to understand it. Vincent watched her regularly, her every single move, sometimes even when she was just sitting and breathing. He watched her sleep, eat, sometimes dress. Although that last one usually had other reasons. She hesitated to complain, mostly because of the things they would talk about.

Some - actually most couples went through the "sweet nothings," phase. Vincent didn't know the meaning of the words "sweet nothings." He didn't babble or chatter. He didn't say anything unless he had something to say. Which meant that every single conversation she had with him was usually quite intense. It was easier if she just let him talk and chose to stick to listening. Trying to talk back was a bit of a headache.

One of the bananas looked yellow enough to eat. She plucked it off the stem and peeled it, throwing the wrapper away. She'd been with him a month, and probably knew more about him than anyone else on the planet. The thought stopped her in the kitchen doorway.

She knew him. God, how she knew him in and out. Maybe that was why she couldn't bear to judge him. Because she understood him. It didn't mean she agreed with him or thought he was right, but she knew where he was coming from.

The thought made her completely lose her appetite for a moment. Then, she started chewing again, and swallowed.

Chances were very likely that he knew her as well. If not better. Especially with all his staring.

She walked into the main room, not what one would call a living room. It was more of a music room, as this was the heart of Vincent's collection of jazz, where the stereo was kept. He had a wonderful entertainment center but rarely used it. If he did, it was either for the news, or for the History Channel. Although she'd gotten him interested in the Food Network. Thank God for satellite TV.

He was staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts. She wondered what went through his head during those moments when he drifted off like that. She was also keenly aware that he knew she was in the room.

"Got some bananas in the market today," she said, just loud enough to be heard over the music without stepping on it."

"Good," he said. "It's been a while. I love bananas in my morning cereal."

She chuckled as she picked up the Satellite TV program guide, thumbing through it. She thought to herself, _how amusing, a contract killer who eats his Special K every morning like a good boy._ She had thoughts like that constantly. She never vocalized them, only smiled in private amusement. Vincent never asked her to express a thought she didn't wish to. It was nice to have that kind of privacy. Although she was sure he could read her mind by now, with the way he stared at her.

"They're mostly green," she said aloud. "I put them on the counter that gets the most sun. Some of them should be ripe by tomorrow."

"Then why are you eating one?" He hadn't even turned around. She was licking the last of the banana goo off her fingers as she turned the page.

"That one was close enough."

He turned, smiled at her. "Didn't your mother teach you about sharing?" He left the view at the window to saunter over to her. She looked up, met his eyes, smiled at him.

She had somehow expected him to look different once they left L.A. He'd still been in his gray suit, barely cleaned of the bloodstains made by the bullet that had taken off half his ear. While the scar was still apparent, it had done little to mar his appearance.

She approximated Vincent's age as somewhere in his early forties, although the complete gray of his hair - which also included the stubble around his chin, the half-grown goatee, and his eyebrows, all the same shade of gray - could have made someone think he was much older. His face itself was still young, especially his eyes. High cheekbones and a strong nose. It turned out that his hair was naturally that way. He'd told her that on their second night in this house, that his hair had only been dark until he was about eighteen, and then it had gone gray. She sometimes wondered what he'd look like if his hair was still dark. She didn't dare ask him to dye it, though. It was enough that she liked his facial hair the way it was, which was a meticulous thing for him to maintain. Like most men, thankfully, he was willing to please her. There were really very few areas where they disagreed.

Pity that one of those areas was in something so vital - like the value of human life.

She brushed the thought away as his arms snaked around her. Up until now, it had felt almost like a honeymoon in this place. But now, she could feel a tenseness in his shoulders, even as he pressed her close.

"What is it?" she whispered, not expecting an answer right away. She didn't get one. Vincent just held her for several long moments. He had admitted that he had never had much of a love life. His sexual encounters were mostly confined to one-night-stands with women he'd meet in bars. And from what she understood, his military-like discipline did not require him to...relieve himself as regularly as most men. Which was very regularly, from her memories of Allen. It wasn't that Vincent didn't have a sexual appetite - he just seemed to put it on a diet most of the time.

Their nights were tapering off, she knew. Getting shorter, then farther in between. It was a very short honeymoon, if that was the case. Secretly, though, she suspected he had two very good reasons why. Although she wasn't ready to think of them concretely yet.

"Do you like it here?" he asked in his soft voice. "In Mexico?"

"It's okay," she said.

He reached up, pushed her brown-black hair off her shoulder so he could rest his cheek in the crook of her neck. "Tell me the truth, Victoria," he said, his voice soothing. "Do you want to stay here?"

"With you?" she whispered. This was unexpected. He hadn't questioned her being with him, not once since they'd arrived. He'd never seemed unsure of having her in his life.

"No, just in Mexico," he said, his voice a bit louder. "I was thinking it might be time to go somewhere else."

She hesitated. With Vincent, long pauses were standard, she didn't know why she didn't take more herself. "Is there a problem here?" she whispered.

He gave a little shrug - his standard tick. "Not really. I just don't like to stay here for too long. I get too comfortable."

"Easy to see why," she teased lightly. "You can play your music as loud as you want and no one ever complains."

He smiled into her neck. The bristles of his half-grown beard tickled her. "Jungle life is lovely...but I miss the city."

She arched an eyebrow in surprise. "The city? I thought you hated the city." 

"I hate L.A. But there are other cities...like New Orleans."

Aha. "Jazz. I should have known."

"Great food, too. You made me watch that show on the Food Network and now I'm curious."

"Hmm." She pretended to consider. "I don't know..."

He jostled her a little, playfully. "Come on..."

She smiled. "Sure, we can go anywhere you want." Then, she stopped, something bubbling up inside her. She let her words end naturally, though, didn't start to say anything else. For a few more moments, Vincent just held her.

"Say it, Victoria," he whispered. "You want to."

She shook her head. "It isn't a big deal."

"Yes it is." He released her just enough to turn her around. "You want to do your work again. I can understand."

She shook her head. "I don't have my license."

"That didn't stop you before."

She looked away. Maybe if it had, she wouldn't be as much of a criminal as he, hiding out from the U.S. Authorities. He brought her face back to meet his.

"You know, I can fix it, if you want."

She frowned. "How?"

"Anything is available for the right amount of money. I know some people we can contact, pay them enough and we can get your license back."

She looked incredulous. "Are you serious?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I don't want to offend your moral sensibilities, because it might not be a hundred percent legal, but legal enough for them to leave you alone, as long as you keep your head down."

This thought had never occurred to her. Get her medical license back? Her calling to be a doctor had been with her almost her entire life. She'd worked and slaved her way through college to get every loan and grant she could muster, and still she was in debt up to her ears. One mistake by not following the proper channels to report a case of abuse and she was out. Piss off the wrong people and your career is over, that had been her life story. So she'd practiced illegally, operating a small clinic, catering to the criminal underbelly of L.A., and had been respected for it in that vein. Until Vincent had come along...but that really wasn't his fault.

Now, to get it back...it had been taken from her unjustly, wasn't it only fair that she get it back, no matter what the means? But no, she shook herself. "I'll...I'll think about it," she said.

He nodded. "Take your time. But until then, I think we're going to get ready to leave."

"Go to New Orleans?" she asked.

"N'Orleans to the locals," he said with a smirk. "And some of that Spanish you've picked up will come in handy."

* * *

A/N: Well, here we are, all back for another round. Yeah, it is off to a pretty solid start, but things are getting a bit hazy. I had a very hard time in this chapter. I think I tried to do too much. But I'd don't know...day after tomorrow school starts! (sniff) Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.

**Byrony Cel**: Still on board! Cool. Chapter 1 was fun to write because it was twisting all these different plot strands together. I felt like I got to fix what was wrong with the movie...not that there was much. Except for the death of two majorly important characters. Which is a lot, if you think about it! Lol

**firegoddess164**: I'm glad someone thought that Vincent going berserk thing was funny! I did feel bad that he wasn't in the chapter at all, so he had to go somewhere. LOL

**Sweet Arwen**: Yeah, Ruffalo is pretty cool, isn't he? I was soooo upset when he died! It so wasn't fair! It was just too easy. So I fixed it. And yeah, get ready to REALLY hate Claudia. Although I love my villans, it's so great to get to vent your evil side through them. She'll have a very big part to come.

**cerebralgoddess18**: Hope you've checked these chapters out! Sequel is here! I just hope this chapter didn't make everything suck. I am not really a romantic, I'm more of a realist, and people are capable, psychologically, of some pretty f'ed up stuff. So it will definitely be a ride to remember!

**Par: **Yeah, well, Love is a funny thing...it doesn't take long to fall into it. But there was a serious "thing" going on between them at the beginning of the story, too. From their very first meeting, alluded to in the first chapter. So I came back full circle. I had a very hard time with that last chapter--it suffered a rewrite or two because I just coulnd't reconcile myself to Vincent saying, "I'm in love with you!" Notice, he did not say it. Their relationship, as you have already seen, is very different. So I'll await your opinions on it. :) I don't know if there will be a lot of room for passion filled nights with what I've got planned. We'll have to see (wink). There WILL, however, be lots and lots of angst. Hope I don't make all those others cry again.

**LunaGrrrBack023**: Hope you're still with me! I'm posting responses to the last reviews with this chapter. You know, it doesn't matter when you review, as long as you do! Hope to hear from you again! Thanks for your comments!

Okay, I'll leave you to it. The button is down below...purple, indigo, violet, whatever. :) PRESS IT! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!!! :)


	3. Hunters

_**Disclaimer: Don't own the movie Collateral. Just borrowing for a while. I'll put everything back neatly when I'm done.**_

_**Hunters**_

Ray Fanning was beginning to wonder what he was doing.

He had the time. Six weeks was only the start of his leave. He could take another six, if he wanted. Injured in the line of duty, and with his reputation. The department was willing to give him enough rope.

And he was going to hang himself with it.

What in the hell had he been thinking? How had that woman talked him into this? He replayed their conversation in that restaurant a million times in his head, and he couldn't pinpoint the moment when he'd given in.

"I'm not much of an artist," she had started, having identified herself as Claudia, "but, that night that you were shot, did you happen to see this man?"

She held up a rough pencil sketch. It was the nose that clicked with him, aquiline and high. He was good with faces. "Not at the club," he said, taking the picture, staring at it, waiting for the image to complete itself in his head. Gray suit, sunglasses, hair that looked nearly platinum blond in the harsh fluorescent lighting. "In the elevator, at the hospital." He blinked. "Max was in there too, behind me. God...I didn't remember that before."

Claudia nodded. Her hair was as straight as he'd ever seen on a woman, falling down across her shoulders like a white silk sheet. She was constantly pushing it back over her shoulder. He wondered why she didn't tie it back, or braid it. Probably would have ruined the look. "So you did see him. If you saw him in person, would you recognize him?"

"Most likely," Fanning replied.

"Good. Would you like to help me catch him?"

Fanning looked at her as if she were crazy. "I'm sorry, who do you work for again?"

"Pedrosa," she said, her voice lowered. It had been what had made him come with her before. The familiarity. She was connected to the Feds, she had the smell of an undercover agent on her, someone buried so deep, raising her head even this high was a threat. She didn't carry credentials, but she had access to information that could only have come from a source as connected as the C.I.A. "You want to call him?" she offered. "On your cel? Make sure?"

He shook his head, although he made a mental note to do it later. "So what do you want with me?"

That was when she smiled. It was a tight, knowing smile, as she reached into the bag she had with her and pulled out a police file. She set it on the table and he picked it up, began to rummage through it. As he did, his eyes widened.

"You were associated with a Victoria Potter when you were in the illegal trafficking division," she said. "You had something to do with her arrest?"

"We had to drop the charges," he said softly. "Not enough evidence. But I always had the feeling she'd been used."

Claudia nodded. "She was. You see, Potter, formerly a doctor, lost her medical license when she went up against the wrong people on a sexual molestation charge. She sort of disappeared into the woodwork after that. You were one of the few people who put her on the radar since that time. Did you get to know her at all?"

Fanning swallowed. "I...uh...well..." It wasn't like him to fluster, he shook himself, spitting it out. "A few weeks after it was over, so as not to get involved with a suspect, I asked her out."

"And?"

"We dated a bit. She wasn't really interested in me, though."

"Why not?"

Fanning looked at her, meeting those ice-blue eyes. "What is this, twenty questions?"

Claudia didn't even blink. "Detective Fanning, Victoria Potter has gone missing. There was an illegal office being run south of Alhambra about three weeks ago. Four dead bodies, all of them taken out by the same shooter who killed Sylvester Clark and your contact Ramone, along with every other witness killed that night, who was involved with a major indictment to be started the following day. The office was hers."

She let the silence sit, let him take it in. Fanning leaned back in his seat, his fingers on the various papers in the file - photographs of the bodies, personal items found at the scene, things linking it definitively to Victoria. "So you're saying that Victoria is somehow involved in all of this?"

"More than involved, Detective," Claudia sighed. She sipped at the water the waitress had been so obliged to leave at their table. "I was on an assignment to protect a patient of hers, Marcus Shakespeare."

"I heard about that," Fanning said, "about his murder, anyway."

Claudia flinched, her annoyance showing through for only a second. Then she calmed. "Victoria Potter was there. That night. With Vincent."

"So," Fanning said slowly, "you're saying she's involved with him."

"She's not just involved," Claudia said. "She's an accomplice."

Fanning laughed, pushing the file away. "You're full of shit," he muttered.

"Am I?"

"Yeah. Victoria was the victim of unfortunate circumstance. She didn't think through her actions before she did them and it cost her a lot, but it happens. She's not a criminal."

"She's been illegally practicing medicine for the last half-dozen years, and she's not a criminal?"

"Well," Fanning said, "you don't know Victoria. She's tenacious."

"So I gathered," Claudia said, brushing her nose, which had just recently lost a bandage - he could tell by the marks it had left on her skin.

"Besides, there wasn't anything else for her to do. She treated criminals, but she wasn't involved in their activities. I figured that out quick."

Claudia shook her head, her hand slapping over the file as she drew it back to her. "Well, Detective, whatever her past may be, she is officially a missing person. And I suspect she's still with Vincent."

He narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"

"Where do you think I get all my information from?" she asked. "Newsweek? Star Magazine? I have more connections than just those in your superiors' offices. I've been tracking Vincent for about a week now. I think I know where he is, and I think Victoria is with him. And I don't say things like that to practical strangers lightly."

"So then where do you think he is?" Fanning challenged. "I mean, since you've been so open with me, tell me."

She hesitated. "Somewhere in Mexico."

He almost laughed. "Somewhere," he echoed, "You know, Mexico is a pretty big place."

She nodded. "It'll be easier once I get there."

"So you're going to Mexico." Fanning did smile this time, almost ready to get up and leave. "So what do you want with me, Claudia?"

She held his eyes for a moment, making him drop the smile. "I want your help, Detective."

"My help?"

"Sure. You know what Vincent looks like, you're familiar with him, possibly more than any other agent I could contact. You have lots of connections in Mexico-"

Fanning started. "Hey, now wait-"

"I wasn't judging," she said calmly. "I was just stating a fact. And I know that you don't like to leave cases hanging open. You could be a big hero, or you could just be a good cop. Either way, you don't have much to lose."

"I don't have any..." he faltered. "I can't go to Mexico. My job, my authority is all here."

"I can take care of that," Claudia said with a slow, cat-like smile.

"Can you?"

"Yes." She waited for a moment, in case he had any other objections. "At the very least, Detective...don't you want to make sure your friend Victoria is okay?"

"You don't seem to think she's in any danger," Fanning said, uncomfortable.

"Yeah, but you do, and I've been wrong before. Besides, I know Vincent. There isn't a such thing as being safe around him."

"You trying to scare me?"

"No. I'm just stating the facts."

"You seem to like to do that."

"Hm." She smiled at him, respecting him. She probably met few enough people who could stand against her, toe to toe. "So what do you say, Detective? You can take an extended leave, you can come with me, and you can come back a big hero."

"Or a good cop."

"Either way."

"Or I could lose my job and get arrested for vigilante activity."

Claudia shrugged. "I suppose. I guess, then, it isn't worth the risk to you. You can spend the rest of your life in peace with the fact that a man who tried to kill you in cold blood is living happy and free with a woman you had some pretty strong feelings about."

"What do you know about that?" Fanning snapped, irritated that she would make such a statement about Victoria.

"Come on, Detective," Claudia said with a knowing look. "You're a cop. You ask you a former suspect? You know what kind of trouble you could have gotten into. You obviously thought she was worth the risk."

Fanning drew a slow breath. "Yeah. I guess I did." There was a heavy silence as he weighed it all up in his head. "All right," he had said quietly. "I'm in."

That was nearly six weeks ago. The hunt hadn't been an easy one. There were constant twists and turns, people covering, people lying, people dying. He'd knocked on every door he knew, talked to every single person he could manage, and only now, now, did they have a single lead that looked promising.

Promising in a way the others hadn't, at least. They'd had leads before. Always dead ends, abandoned houses, wrong criminals. They'd been shot at a dozen times, their car had been stolen twice that, but Claudia was Miss Resourceful. Fanning didn't like to think about the things she did to stay above the water.

This lead was different. A few days ago a woman in a small marketplace, out of the way from the mainstream, had recognized a picture of Victoria. She didn't know where the woman came from or where she was going, but she'd been here. Problem was, they couldn't just sit around and wait for her. Claudia picked up quickly that it was a tightly knit community, and that strangers never went unnoticed. So they had to pretend to leave, and then go camping in the jungle in full guerilla warfare gear.

Those were two days he wished he could forget. But they paid off.

The mornings were busy as soon as the sun cracked the sky. The long siesta during this time of the year took a lot of time out of the afternoon, so business had to be conducted as early as possible. A hummer pulled up, driven by a man who looked as ordinary as the rest of them. But a woman got out of the passenger side.

Her hair had been lightened by the climate. She wore a sleeveless shirt and a sarong of some type tied tightly around her waist. Calf-length khakis protected her legs underneath, and high boots did the rest. Military style, but much more classy. She smelled like money, even from their distance.

Claudia had climbed up some tree, Fanning didn't know where. His place was the ground, hers the sky. She seemed to be able to swing from branch to branch like a damn monkey. He hoped she was getting a better ID than he was.

The woman turned. Her eyes were covered with sunglasses, but there was something familiar about her. Other than the fact that she was one of maybe four white women they saw around here. Blonds, redheads - no surprises there, as anybody who needed cover and whoever they wanted to bring along was welcome for the right price.

Fanning narrowed his eyes. There was something familiar about the shape of those sunglasses. Narrow frames, only two black ovals protecting her eyes. She lifted them up, pushed them onto her head.

It was Victoria.

She had changed a bit. She had always had a decent figure, but there was a distinct swell to her breasts and curve to her hips that hadn't been there before.

Fanning swallowed. Holy shit, it couldn't be...

A seed plunked down onto his head. Fanning looked directly up. There was a flicker of light between the trees. Could have been natural, but it happened three times, calculated.

Claudia had seen and ID'd her. That was Victoria Potter.

* * *

Victoria didn't feel right. Normally, she would blame it on Vincent being a bit too rough, but he'd been in a mellow mood the night before - it lingered on into the morning, the way his arm was still snaked around her. When Vincent did sleep, it wasn't very hard. She felt him idly playing with the strings of her pajama drawers.

She couldn't help but smile. Vincent happy was a rare enough occasion, and she'd had a front row seat for nearly two months now. She could only ponder how odd it was for him to be experiencing it. And then, there were the quiet little fears that nipped and tugged at her, telling her that getting what you wanted was usually worse than ever wanting it to begin with.

He'd talked about leaving Mexico, talked about her getting her license back. She'd done what he'd asked, talked to the right people, given them information, whatever they wanted, trusting him, knowing Vincent would never run the risk of exposing them. But so far, nothing had happened. Vincent hadn't even mentioned moving again.

She hesitated to move. Not just out of the country, but out of the bed, at the moment. She gingerly felt her breasts, wondering if the ache was still there. A simple squeeze had made her flinch, and it wasn't so different now. Plus there was an odd nausea that had been plaguing her for the last few weeks, but she had a strong stomach and rarely gave into it. Vincent warned her to be more careful about drinking the water.

She was a doctor. Her medical mind knew what the signs meant. She'd eaten a whole bunch of those nearly-rotten bananas the other day without blinking, and then followed it with several slices of Vincent's hand-cut salami he'd special ordered. He dismissed it, not upset with her, although irritated that there weren't any bananas for his cereal the next morning. And he didn't like the smell of his breath after he'd eaten too much of that salami anyway.

She shut her eyes, letting out her breath in a slow stream. This couldn't be. Vincent would be so angry. They'd had this conversation before, about kids.

_I can't be a father_, he always said quietly_. I just can't_. No more discussion from there. Not that she was anxious to be a baby-making machine, but no one could shag like they did and expect nothing to happen.

Carefully, she lifted up her head. Her hand went to Vincent's at her waist and she pushed it away as she sat up. He let her go, and she scampered over to the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she turned on the lights.

She was not going to throw up.

She ran cold water, waiting for a few minutes for it to really cool down. She pressed it against her cheeks, went to the bathroom, did everything she could think of to settle her stomach. Finally she went into the kitchen and found her stash of Pepto. It seemed to work. When she came back to bed, Vincent had turned away, and she sat down, wondering what she should do. Should she say something now? No, better to delay the inevitable. She had to go into the market. Someone had to be selling pregnancy tests. How in the hell else did a woman know if she was pregnant in this corner of Mexico? As far as she knew, she was the only real doctor around, and she wasn't going to one of those corner-quacks-

She stopped. Once upon a time she'd been a corner-quack. Maybe she still was. She lay down, slipping her feet back under the blanket. Her toes touched Vincent's, and he started to scoot backward, closer to her. His legs wound through hers, holding her in place. Affectionately. She couldn't help but smile. Touching him was still a thrill. She wondered when it would wear off.

Then he turned, looking at her over his shoulder. He was smiling. "Good morning," he said.

"Morning," she smiled back. He shifted so he was half-way on his back.

"What's up? Other than last night's dinner."

"No, it's fine," she said. "Pepto helped."

His smile flickered. It was the same flicker she'd seen a dozen times, when something was bother him. Something he really didn't want to think about. A twitch in the corner of his mouth, subtle, but she never missed it. She reached out, moving her legs up to wrap around his waist.

"Something up with you?" she whispered, almost wishing he would just ask her and take the pressure off.

He chuckled. "Maybe. But if you're not feeling well..."

She slid an arm across his chest, kissing his shoulder. He had tattoos, faded after long years of neglect. Military years, he'd said. Sometimes he would talk about those years. Mostly he wouldn't.

He closed his eyes under the caress of her lips, and they both lay in the quiet morning. She'd become an early riser, knowing that the heat of the day always afforded another chance to rest. Her mind, though, was working. What could she tell him? Whenever she went into the market, he usually liked to know what for. He would ask. She had to tell him something.

"I was thinking of going and seeing if there are any more bananas," she said quietly.

He opened his eyes. "You still craving them?"

She shrugged. "I was a bit selfish. Don't you want any?"

"Doesn't matter to me." He paused. "Maybe there's some other fruit that's come in."

"Want me to go see?"

"Why don't we go together?"

On the rare occasion that Vincent went there with her, it was usually to check out other kinds of black market items. He would be distracted. She might be able to slip it past him.

"Depends on you," she whispered. "You up for that?"

He chuckled. "I'm really going to be glad when we go to New Orleans," he said. "There's a lot more life there. I don't have to be such a recluse."

Her ears perked up. "You're serious about that?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"You just hadn't mentioned anything about it in so long."

"Well..." he paused. "I was waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

Another pause. This one longer. Finally, he rolled over to face her, propped up on his elbow. "Some business," he said shortly, then kissed her hand, which had fallen from its place across his chest. "Why don't you go into the marketplace early, Victoria? When you get back we can have some lunch."

"By myself?"

"Yeah." He kissed her hand again. "I forgot, there are a few things I have to take care of."

She knew that was the signal that he didn't want to talk about it anymore. She nodded, then pulled herself up onto her elbows.

"Then I'd better get dressed." 

Then he was pulling her down again, his arms around her waist, holding her close. His chin rested lightly on her stomach, and he was smiling wickedly up at her.

"You sure you don't feel well?" he asked playfully. She couldn't help but laugh at him when he was like this. Moody, but without the extreme swings. He was softening, getting like this more and more often. Even if his libido was slowing down a bit, he was much more tender. She closed her eyes as he began to kiss her stomach, pushing up the thin nightshirt that she wore.

"Vince..." she moaned.

One hand reached up, cradling her breast. Then, he pressed. Just a little too much. A sharp pain jolted through her, and she let out a little yelp. He immediately stopped.

"You okay?" he asked, alarmed.

"Fine," she said, resisting the urge to rub the swollen body part. "I guess I really don't feel that good."

"Maybe you shouldn't go to the market, then," he said, sitting up as she climbed out of the bed.

"No, no, a walk would do me good. Get some fresh air." She tossed him a smile, went to the closet, pulled out some random clothes. "It's no big. I'll go early, be back early, we can have brunch."

"I'll make omelets, then," he said as she disappeared into the bathroom once again.

* * *

A/N: Sorry, no replies today. All my energy is being sapped by stress. Updates may not come on a daily basis starting tomorrow, but I will be sure to update regularly. Feel free to nag, it does keep me on my toes.


	4. Secrets

Disclaimer: Same as always. Although I don't think it's really fair for a man to be as good looking at Tom Cruise. He needs to spread the love, you know what I mean?

A/N: Thank you out there, guys, from reviewing! **SweetArwen, Byrony Cel, cerebralgoddess18, LunaGrrrBack023, **** PAR! and firegoddess! **You guys, and the anonymous ones out there, are the greatest! I pulled this out just this evening, just for you. Don't hate me for what happens at the end.

((Special note to **LunaGrrrBack023: **you know, you want to write, you write. Dont' worry about if it's great. I didn't get to writing this way overnight. I've been writing for nearly fifteen years now. It takes time, patience, and a lot of reading. The greatest thing about fanfic is that it's a way to get a lot of feedback on your style and your content. So go for it! Let me know when your story is posted and I'll read it. I'll even beta-read it for you if you send it to me in an email (just put it IN the email, don't post it as an attachment if you can help it) and help you out, if you want. Just let me know.))

Where did **Sweet Treats **and **Warm Mittens **go? I know there are a few more out there, you were with me all through "Soulless..." Where have you gone? Please review so I know you haven't given up on me! :)

_**Secrets**_

Victoria found herself wandering a bit aimlessly. She knew where to look, but couldn't quite get her feet to take her that way.

She was pregnant. She knew she was pregnant. Dammit...she wanted to be happy about this. Having a baby was something she had been secretly longing for, for a while. Not so much having a husband or the big house and a normal life, but a child. It was a biological clock thing, she knew that. She was thirty-five. It had been ringing for at least three years now.

This wasn't the way to do it. Not with Vincent. Sure, it was okay for the two of them. But a child? How could they make sure it stayed safe? How could they give it the education it needed? How could Vincent, who killed people for a living, possibly accept that he was responsible for a very delicate human life?

Her rational voice told her that of course he could do it, he'd been taking care of her. But she was different, she replied. She was a grown adult who knew what she was getting into - even if she didn't, entirely. She could adapt, change. A baby made everything change around it. Vincent wasn't going to take getting up in the middle of the night to change diapers and hanging smelly baby poo all that well.

Worse than that, she knew what kind of thread they lived by. There was always the chance someone would come around who was looking for some payback. It happened all the time. Vincent had failsafes in place, and they were good for the two of them. But a baby would become a serious liability. Not to mention, ill equipped to handle the stress of such a situation.

Potentially, she was carrying Vincent's seed. Whatever made him indifferent to killing, what if that was passed on? How could she teach right and wrong when she herself had abandoned all pretext of it herself? Bad enough she had to live with that guilt. She couldn't do it to an innocent baby.

She bumped a table. The corner knicked her hip, leaving a mark that was sure to become a bruise. But finally, her feet had done it. The Latino woman looked at her over the low counter, eyes going up and down.

Victoria didn't quite know the Spanish for it, but she managed to get her point across. She was handed a blue box with a stick inside. At least she didn't have to pee into a cup, she thought with relief. She paid and wandered back into the marketplace, taking the stick and the instructions out of the box and throwing the box away. The stick and instructions promptly went into her bag, at the very bottom.

She wandered around, bought a few more things - there were some fresh oranges, but she wasn't a big citrus fan, so she grabbed a few for Vincent and headed back to the humvee.

* * *

"What did you do?" Fanning asked as he and Claudia met a good thirty feet from the proximity of the market, heavily covered in the bush. She had stealthily approached the humvee as it had returned to pick up Victoria, then come scurrying back. She pulled the hood off her head, revealing her white hair in the late morning sun.

"Tracker," she said. She pulled out a small cel-phone, flipped up the top to reveal a detailed screen. "We can follow. Come on."

* * *

Victoria ate her omelet with Vincent on the patio. He'd made her favorite, spinach and feta, but for some reason she couldn't quite get it down. Vincent noticed, asked her a half-dozen times if she was all right, to which she would only smile, nod, and attempt another bite. By the time he was finished with his own ham and cheese omelet, he was rather annoyed with her because he knew she was hiding something. Vincent did not like things to be hidden from him in his house. She could sense him coiling tightly inside, ready to spring on her, pound her if he had to for information, but he restrained himself.

There was a small beeping coming from his pocket. He pulled out that blasted pager. He gave her a quick look and got up, going into the house without a word.

She didn't blame him. She knew better than to hide anything from him. But she just couldn't tell him, she couldn't. Not until she knew for sure. She put her elbows on the table, her face in her hands. She heard the soft, distant sound of Vincent on the telephone. She couldn't make out any words. She shut her eyes, breathing in the late morning air. It was going to rain soon. She could tell by the smell.

When she opened her eyes and looked up, she was almost startled to see Vincent in the doorway, watching her. The look on his face, if she didn't know better, was practically concerned. She'd seen all his softer looks, known how special she was to be blessed by them, but this one was different. Like he was afraid for her. Or of her.

"What is it?" she whispered, knowing he would hear with perfect clarity.

"Gotta go into town," he said. The skin on the back of her neck tingled. She knew what that meant. Work. He never went into town, ever, unless it was work. And by town, he meant an hour's drive away to the nearest city that could actually be located on a store-bought map. "I'll be back by tonight."

She blinked, realizing that it was actually a blessing in disguise. Normally, she hated being alone for that long. She reminded herself to at least appear that way, so she wouldn't make the situation worse. She put on her typical sulk, knowing words were too much, but the sulk she could get away with.

He turned, grabbed his keys from the hook by the phone, and went out the other way, toward the garage. When he was gone, she let down the frown and headed for her bag.

* * *

She had always hated peeing into cups. She had shy kidneys. They weren't any better now, even with a stick. She would have to stop, start, move the stick, worry that it wasn't getting hit, start again, squeeze hard because it was coming faster, and then try like hell not to piss on her own fingers. When she was done, she had to scrub her hands three times with hot, hot water before she was happy.

She read the instructions. Always second, never first, because, hell, she was a doctor, she knew how this crap worked. She was just looking for the wait time.

She passed the wait time staring out the window, at the floor, at the pictures she had plastered on their fridge. Postcards, mostly, from the various places Vincent went to. He always brought her back a post card, and she had a few from their drive down here. There was only a single picture of her and Vincent, taken with a Polaroid camera that had broken after a single take. Vincent had nearly beat the snot out of the dealer before the man had given him back his money. But the picture was still good.

Vincent was holding out the camera. He had his other arm around her, her head against his neck. It was sort of a downward angled shot, but it got both of their faces in. They were smiling like newlyweds. Vincent was smiling...God, he had such a beautiful smile. He glowed when he smiled, angelic, demonic, whichever he chose. In the light, his hair looked nearly white and shone around his head like some kind of halo. She teased him about that picture. He tolerated her putting it on their fridge because it was the only one of him in existence, and he had to compromise something. Even though, normally, he didn't compromise. He guessed it was little harm to have a picture like that on a refrigerator. People had all kinds of pictures on their refrigerators, didn't mean anything.

She'd been smiling, wistfully, as she looked at it. Then, slowly the smile dropped as she realized the implications of that statement. Vincent knew about the intricacies of someone keeping photos on their fridge. Must mean he saw it pretty often. Which meant he went into people's houses. For a reason. And his reasons were never good. But after all, that was what he did for a living.

Something hit her foot and she jumped. She looked down and laughed at herself. Max looked back up at her from her feet, fully grown to his one and a half feet long, one foot tall, miniaturized golden retriever self. He had dropped his little rubber ball at her feet, something that had come in a gum-ball machine. He was a quiet little dog, mostly kept to himself. Victoria suspected he was imitating Vincent in his behavior. After all, Vincent was top dog. He only really made himself known when Vincent was away, seeing as that was the chance for him to get his mommy's attention all to himself.

She picked up the little red rubber ball and bounced it. Max went after it, slipping on the tile floor. She laughed, stood up, glanced at the stick.

There was a blue circle in the middle.

Victoria closed her eyes.

Max let out a loud-pitched yelp.

She opened her eyes.

The ball came right at her head, slamming right against her temple. After that, she didn't even know if she'd hit the floor.

* * *

When she woke up, the sun had gone down. Her vision was a little foggy, but there was a glass of water sitting on the coffee table in front of her. She was lying down on the couch, on her back. She rolled a little, grabbed the water, and managed a gulp.

"You okay?" came a voice.

She put the water down with a little slam. It sapped her strength, but it was worth the act of defiance. "Who are you? What the hell are you doing here? Do you have any idea-"

The third statement was stopped as someone came around the back of the couch and leaned over the thickly-padded cushions. Long white hair brushed against the plush brown suede. "Spare me, Victoria."

"Claudia," she whispered. "What the hell are you doing?"

Claudia looked up, sighed. "Well, right now, I'm looking at your little love next. Pretty impressive. Vincent must have saved a lot of his pennies for this." She glanced down at Victoria, a sneer on her lips. "How does it feel, having blood spilled to put a roof over your head?"

"Oh, spare _me_ now," Victoria groaned, struggling to sit upright. "You fucking bitch, what did you do?"

"Little nerve trick. You hit exactly the right spot on the temple with enough force, you knock a person out. You miss by an inch, or you press too hard, you kill them."

Victoria glared at her as she came out from behind her to sit down on the coffee table in front of her. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

Claudia shrugged. "You think I haven't come up against guys like Vincent before? Please, he's a dime a dozen. When he tells you he's insignificant, in his case, he's actually telling the truth."

Victoria glared, shook her head, struggled to clear the fuzziness away. "You...knew Vincent...from a long time ago."

"He tell you that?" Claudia asked, casually, as if they were old friends chatting over drinks. "Yeah, I did. He was my significant other for a while, the only guy who ever waited for me during a brief prison stretch. I got out early for good behavior, and plus there was enough convincing evidence that I'd been nearly raped, so that got me a lot of sympathy."

Finally, the swirling sensation stopped. Victoria met her, eye to eye. "What are you doing here, Claudia? What do you want?"

"What I want..." Claudia pressed her fingertips together, encased as they were in tight black gloves. "What I want is some payback for the bullet in my shoulder and the break in my nose."

"What about your arm and your knee?" Victoria quipped nastily.

Claudia chuckled, reached down and rapped her knuckles on the side of her knee. There was a metallic sound. "Actually, dear, I lost my knee a long time ago. Finest titanium, best replacement money can buy. And my arm...well, I'm double jointed. That fake broken arm trick works a lot. But I only can get away with it once."

A pause descended. Claudia glared into Victoria's face, searching for something. Finally, she parted her thin lips and said, "Does Vincent know you're pregnant?"

Victoria should have been startled, but hell, the test had been sitting out on the counter for everyone to see.

Claudia shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Didn't you take your pills regularly, dear? Or did a condom break? Or don't you and Vincent like condoms? He was always more of a bare-back rider, anyway." She smirked evilly. "But I certainly wouldn't want to be you when he finds out."

Victoria glared at her, feeling tears come unbidden to her eyes. "Shut up. You don't know anything."

"Oh, but I do, Vicki, dear. I know a lot. I know where Vincent came from, I know more about his awful, bloody past than you could dream up in your worst nightmares. I know what goes on inside his head - he hasn't changed that much since I knew him, I can see it in his face. The same empty look in his eyes. Although I am surprised he's taken you on. That's not really his style. All the same, it's better, I guess. Makes it easier for me."

"What...what are you talking about, bitch?" Victoria choked.

"You, my dear Vicki, are a liability," Claudia explained patiently, her voice dripping with a compassion that was so fake, it almost sounded real. "You see, people like Vincent and I, we don't have personal attachments. Sooner or later, someone with a grudge will always come looking for you. The only thing a personal attachment does is give that person a stronger foothold. You, quite plainly, are going to be the death of your sweet lover Vincent."

Victoria bit the inside of her lip, trying not to scream a half-dozen obscenities into Claudia's face. She had more of a self-preservation instinct than that.

"See this pretty house, all this stuff? Empty, it means nothing to him. He's gone right now, and if you weren't here, he could decide to just go and never come back, and that would be fine for him. He would be free. But you, you tie him down. You chain him to this place. You make him care. Vincent doesn't care, it's not in the job description."

"A man is more than his job," Victoria bit out.

"Not this job, baby," Claudia returned. "Worst thing is, you think he loves you."

The other woman's eyes widened. She'd taken just about all she could. "You. Shut. Up."

"Has he ever said it?"

"He doesn't have to."

Claudia laughed softly. "They all have to, baby, that's in our nature. We have to hear it. They have to stay it. That's what makes it real. Never say it, and it doesn't exist. Maybe that's what will save him."

"You're wrong," Victoria said, unable to help herself. "You don't know him. Not like I do."

"Sure. You tell yourself that." Claudia stood up, walked around to the other end of the coffee table, stared down at Victoria. "Whatever it is, it isn't love, Vicki, I can promise you that. Guys like Vincent don't love. He's just gotten overly-attached to you. Happens to some of the greats, before they go. Get their foot caught in the door, fall over, shoot themselves through the head. Happens every time. He's grasping at something he knows he can't have, lying to himself. And you let him."

Victoria could only glare at her, horrified beyond words.

"Mark my words, Vicki," Claudia sighed. "This house of cards is going to fall down. Now, you can either sit back and watch that happen, or you can do something about it?"

Victoria spluttered, "What, you trying to help me now?"

Claudia shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it. Maybe I'm trying to help Vincent. Look, no matter how he feels about you, you love him. You'd die for him. I can smell it on you. A sensible person like Dr. Victoria Potter wouldn't go running off with a contract killer without a very, very good reason. And love is a very powerful motivator."

"Get to the point, you psychopathic bitch," Victoria whispered.

Claudia sighed. "You know, you can call me a bitch all you want, but let's leave the adjectives behind, okay?" She folded her arms, continued. "Now, as I was saying, you love him. You care about him and I'm sure you want what's best for him. Well, this isn't it, Vicki."

"Stop calling me that," Victoria said. "Nobody calls me Vicki."

"My point," Claudia went on, as if ignoring her, "is that you could really do some good, here. You see, Vincent is in a lot of trouble, even if he doesn't know it yet. Shit is coming down that hill, and it's going to avalanche onto his head. He can, however, get out of it." Claudia handed her a card. "You know this name?"

Victoria took the card, hesitating. She looked down at the name. Ray Fanning. If it was possible, she grew even more pale. "Ray?"

"L.A.P.D., detective in narcotics. But he's a good go-between. Vincent agrees to surrender himself to Detective Fanning. Fanning will escort him back to L.A., where he will be handed over to the Feds, where he will be cut the sweetest deal of his life. He testifies that Felix is the one who hired him to murder all the witnesses against him, Felix goes down, and Vincent gets a completely clean slate. He can go anywhere he want, start over fresh."

"Alone," Victoria whispered.

"Isn't it better that way? Besides, after he finds out about this-" Claudia flapped her hand toward Victoria's abdomen, "you might be pretty damn glad of it. You want Vincent to live happily ever after, and I know you do, even if it's without you, then you'll do this. It's the only way. Otherwise, it's only a matter of time."

Victoria stared down at the card. She licked at the tears that had dripped onto the rim of her lips.

Claudia bent down, catching Victoria's eyes. "Baby," she said, back in that compassionate voice, "it's a shitty world out there. You've had your fun. It's not like you're not going to get anything for your trouble. But do the right thing, okay? I know you hate me, I don't blame you. I am a bitch, I admit it. But I'm right. You give it some heavy thought, you'll find out you know it, too. When you're ready, call that number."

Victoria wiped at the tear tracks. "He'll never agree," she whispered. "He's too damn proud."

Claudia considered her. "Then break his pride," she said. "He'll agree." She straightened, reached for something inside her pocket, fiddled with it, and then slipped back into the shadows, disappearing from Victoria's sight.

Victoria sat staring at the card Claudia had left for a good fifteen minutes before she was able to pull herself together enough to get up, get rid of the pregnancy test and hide the card. She went into the bathroom to cool down her face, get rid of the bright red from the tears, but the second she turned on the light, she saw it was a useless fight.

There was a huge bruise on her temple. It was so purple and blue, it was almost like it was dripping down into her face, across her forehead. There was no way in hell she could hide it. Vincent was going to come home, see her like this, and he was going to completely flip out.

* * *

A/N: Back by popular demand...(Ok, so only like 3 people liked it...that's enough for me.)

Me: Vincent wasn't in this chapter much, was he? But he was talked about a lot.

Vincent: Who's talking about me?

Me: Uh...nobody. You know, I got on the internet and looked up some stuff about Miles Davis, so I'm Jazz literate now.

Vincent: Yippee for you. What were you saying about me?

Me: Vincent, don't be paranoid. Look, I was watching Vanilla Sky the other day, and I'm wondering, when did the Lucid Dream begin?

Vincent: Vanilla Sky? Lucid Dream? Woman, are you doing crack again?

Me: God, I wish...I mean, no. I'm working too damn hard, but no, no crack. So what about Vanilla Sky?

Vincent: What about it?

Me: Well, you were in it. I figured you'd know what it was about.

Vincent: No idea.

Me: Too bad. You were with a really hot Spanish girl.

Vincent: I'm not into that. I like red-heads.

Me: (puts on a red-wig) Really?

Vincent: Uh...maybe not. Okay, look, you won't tell me what you're talking about, I'm going to have to beat it out of you.

Me: Okay, this conversation suddenly became unsuitable for a PG-13 audience. You guys go review...hopefully we'll get this sorted out by the time you come back. Although it may take a few days.

Vincent: Get ready for it, baby.

Me: Oh God, please don't send me to hell. :)


	5. Reactions

_**Warning: This chapter deals with some extremely delicate and disturbing issues. If you're sensitive to that kind of thing, read at your own risk.**_

_**Standard Disclaimer**_

_**Reactions**_

He found her on the couch when he got home, sitting in the dark. He didn't think too much of it because they usually kept lights out whenever possible. She was probably pouting, he thought, and decided to just let it go, as she had enough sense not to say anything.

"Victoria?" he said softly as he entered the living room, carrying a thick yellow envelope with him. Making sure she was awake.

"Yeah?" she called back, her dark outline moving slightly to show that she had been curled up, and was straightening out for him.

"I brought you a gift." He came over to the coffee table and sat down in front of her. Instead of cool tile, it was warm underneath him. Most people didn't notice those kinds of things. Vincent registered it, but was anxious to give Victoria her gift. He would ask in a minute.

"What is it?" she asked. He placed the packet in her hands.

"Your license came through today. It's all set up. You've been reinstated. No questions asked."

She seemed startled, but her reaction was far less energetic than he had expected. "Wow," she whispered. "Thank you, Vincent."

"Well, maybe you can do a little better than that," he said, his tone turning sly as he leaned closer to her. He grasped her knees, and she jumped under his touch. It wasn't normal for her to react to him like this. "Victoria? What is it?"

She shook her head, her face leaning closer to his. "Nothing, Vincent," she said, but her smile wasn't completely natural. And her hair was hanging down, covering a part of her face. She pressed her lips to his, and Vincent would never have hesitated kissing her back, except for the fact that she was trembling, just slightly. Nervous.

"No, Victoria, tell me, what is it," he said, his voice a little lower. He reached out, his hands going to her arms, instinct telling him she was reacting from a kind of shock, that the first priority was to make sure no physical harm was done. She wiggled under his search, which only made the alarms sound louder.

"Nothing, really. I mean...I fell before. Hit my head. I think I tripped on Max...he's been getting underfoot lately."

"He's never gotten under my feet."

"Well, no, you're not his mommy," Victoria said with a light-hearted laugh. "I was just trying to shake it off."

"Mm hmm." Vincent looked at her in the dark, then stood up and reached over for the lamp.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as the bulb flicked on. He looked down. Her face was red and swollen, and on her right temple there was a ringed bruise. It looked like she'd been struck in a central place and the shockwaves had gone out in purple clots of blood under her skin. He sat down beside her this time, his hands cupped carefully around her face, looking at the bruise.

"Who in the hell did that to you?" he asked. His eyes met hers, he held fast and wouldn't let go. "Why have you been crying?"

"Well, the stupid fall hurt," she tried.

He shook his head. "No, Victoria. Tell me the truth. You know better. What happened."

"Vincent, I don't -"

"Victoria," and there was a clear warning bell in his voice now, "I'm going to keep asking you until you tell me. So you can take all the time you want, but you _will_ tell me. Who was here?"

She met his eyes, flinched, looked away. She pulled her face from his grasp, having to reach up and remove his hands by his wrists before she could get control over her own head again. She wanted to get up, move away from him. She needed distance so she could think, but Vincent would have caught her and forced her back down beside him if she'd tried to move.

"Claudia," Victoria managed after a significant pause. "Claudia was here."

Vincent didn't seem terribly surprised, but he did seem very pissed. There was a coldness in his face, it subtly froze over his features, turning his eyes into green ice. "And what did she say?"

"Terrible things," Victoria choked, feeling the horrid memories as fresh as if she were still sitting there, in front of her, black-gloved hands templed, long white hair blazing in the shadows, ice-blue eyes so cruel.

"Like what."

"Stupid woman things, Vincent," Victoria said, a bit louder, as if trying to shake it off. "She talked about me and you."

A bit of a reaction - he slightly raised one eyebrow. "And she said?"

"Stuff. About our relationship. About how..." The lump clenched her throat shut, she almost coughed.

"How-"

"How you and I..." Victoria shook her head. "She said a lot of painful things, Vincent. She was trying to upset me and she did. Do I really have to repeat them? You'll just think I'm being stupid, and I couldn't take that. They weren't stupid."

"But they weren't true."

Her eyes opened, looked away from him. "No. They were true things."

Vincent leaned back. His face still held that cold menace, and she hoped that somewhere in his head he was imagining ways of making Claudia suffer. It only made it worse to think that look would soon be directed at her when she told him what came next.

"So she just came here to upset your womanly jealousies?" he said, his tone with a substantial amount of bite. "Knocked you out, but didn't do any other damage. She left you alive, which meant she wanted you to tell me she was here. What does she want from us?"

Victoria managed to look at him again. "She wants...she wants you to return to the United States, to turn yourself into the F.B.I., and testify against Felix and the guys who hired you to kill those five witnesses that night you were shot, the night you met Max. In return, you'll probably be put in Witness Protection, and given a clean slate." She drew in her breath, amazed she'd been able to give all that information so calmly.

"And why should I do that?" Anybody else would have laughed at the absurdity. Vincent didn't seem to find much to be laughable.

"Because she thinks if you don't, eventually your relationship with me is going to slow you down to the point where you're going to get yourself killed."

Vincent nodded slowly. Victoria felt a distinct pang. She had hoped he would assure her that it wasn't true, that they were safe, that he would always keep them safe. The fact that he seemed to be taking Claudia's statement as truth really hurt. Even though it was already what Victoria had thought to herself a thousand times already.

"How does she think that testifying is going to solve that?" Vincent said, almost to himself.

"Probably because Felix is most likely the guy to come after you," Victoria heard herself saying, numbly. "Since you didn't finish your contract with him."

Vincent nodded again. "Well," he murmured, "since Max offered a discount of 35 of my services, I had thought that Felix was content to let it go. But I know he isn't, none of them are. He's still going to be indicted because that District Prosecutor is still alive." Slowly, he stood up. His brain was in total work mode now, Victoria had seen it a few times since she'd been brought here. "I could always go back to L.A.," he said, half to her, half to himself. "Finish the job."

Victoria shook her head. "No," she said strongly.

"Well, what do you suggest? Turning myself in?"

Victoria shut her eyes. Now was the moment. Things were already bad. Maybe it would help clear something up. "Vincent...I'm pregnant."

He'd been looking down at her over his shoulder. At the news, he slowly walked away from her, went to the window, pressed his hands to the glass. Victoria sank back into the cushions of the couch, the tears threatening to soak her cheeks again. This shouldn't be happening, she told herself. They were going to have a baby together and he was treating it as if someone were going to die. Then the irony of the fact that he was a killer for hire hit her, and she would have actually laughed if her throat hadn't been so clenched. She had always imagined that the day she announced she was pregnant, considering how she and Allen had completely failed at the task, would be not just joyous, but triumphant. She could give life. She could have babies. A fusion of her and Vincent, proof that they had existed, evidence of their love. What a hopelessly romantic idea. Pathetic, really, considering her situation.

He was turning back to her, calm as she expected, and not quite as angry. "How far along?" he asked.

"I have no idea."

"Well, it can't be more than two months," he said. "That's still early. There are lots of options."

"Options?" she echoed, suddenly getting an adrenaline surge.

He looked at her, calmly. "Victoria, we can't have a baby."

"Vincent, if you even say the word abortion-"

"I won't say it, but still-"

"First of all, _hell no_, never in a million years." The rising of her voice pushed the tears away, made her feel stronger, more sure of herself. Anger was always a great cure to depression, she thought sarcastically. "And second, there is no way I'm going to some butcher with a wire hanger-"

"Then we can go to one of the big cities, a clinic-"

She reached behind her, grasped the first thing her fingers clutched - a couch cushion. She hurled it at him. He caught it, easily.

"Victoria," he said, complacently.

"Shut UP!" she howled, standing up with the words. "You...you monster! You may be a murderer but I'm not!"

Vincent sighed, looked away. She was a fool to think he was defeated. "Well, I guess there are other ways. This early, lots of things can happen. Vigorous activity, the wrong diet, all kinds of things could -"

She reached for something else to throw - a vase of flowers she had brought in a few days ago. The water splashed all down the front of his shirt and pants, soaking him.

"Stop talking, Vincent," she commanded, with an air of authority she'd never heard from her own voice before. "Just. Stop."

To her secret amazement, he did.

"It is not happening," she said, stone hard. "So just don't even say anything about it, again."

He regarded her coolly, turned, went into the bathroom. With the detachment of a mortician, he stripped off his clothes and put on fresh ones. Jeans and a light sweater. Deep, charcoal gray, went nice with his hair and complexion. He came a back out to find her sitting again, on the couch, perched on the edge, elbows in her lap, hands folded under her chin. He approached slowly, sat down beside her, gently brushed his fingers across the bruise on her temple. Gently, his lips followed, and she sighed, knowing he was making a truce. If she pushed past this point, he would more than likely go into psycho mode, so she had to tread carefully. It was amazing he hadn't done it already.

"What are we going to do, then, Victoria?" he whispered, putting his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. The warmth of his nearness was almost comforting. "You tell me. But you know my limits."

"I know," she whispered back. "You can't be a father. You can't even be a husband." She opened her eyes, stood up, gently detaching herself from his embrace. He let her go reluctantly, but she moved slowly enough to let him know she wasn't going to do anything rash. "Vincent," she said, turning, looking down at him from across the coffee table. "I'm...I'm going to leave."

He blinked. Looked up at her. Blinked again. Not believing what he heard. "As in?"

"As in, I'm going to go back to the States." She drew a breath. "These last two months... they've been...amazing. And I love you. I know you love me, even if you don't say it."

"Victoria," he started, but she shushed him.

"Please let me finish, Vincent. You see, you and I seem to have failed to come to an understanding about what we're doing here. You're content for the two of us to just be in a house together, forever. And that's wonderful. But I...I've got more than that now, and it isn't enough for me."

"I don't understand," he said, that familiar twitch in the corner of his mouth again. "I don't see how what you want from this is any different than what I want. I mean, you want jewelry, I'll buy you jewelry. But what is marriage, if not two people living together for the rest of their lives?"

"You and I are a lot different than a family, Vincent," she said softly, slowly. "Just being here together...we don't have any purpose."

"Making each other happy isn't a purpose?"

"It is. But what will make me happy and what will make you happy are two different things. I didn't want to face that for a while, and when I did, I thought I could just adjust, I could change, because I wanted to be with you."

"And you don't want to be with me anymore?"

"I do want to be with you," she said smoothly. "But not enough to give up every single part of who I am. That woman can't be who you want her to be, Vincent. If you want me, as I want you, you have to compromise, too."

He sighed, barely restraining his impatience. "But Victoria, you don't understand, I _can't_-"

"I do understand. That's why I'm not mad at you. That's why I'm telling you that I still love you and I'll always love you. But I am going to leave." She drew a steadying breath. "I think, if you think about it, long and hard, you'll realize that this was coming, Vincent. Neither one of us ever thought this through. It was good while it lasted, but I think we'd better call it a day while we can."

He looked at her, as she spoke, and she saw him slowly pulling away from her, inside. She could only imagine what was going through his head. Someone like him, who had never loved anyone, who couldn't even say the words to the single person that he did love - to hear that he was losing her. She was leaving, going away. She couldn't imagine the damage she was doing.

But it didn't stop it from being the right thing to do.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked in a soft voice, after a much longer time had passed than either one of them realized.

"I don't know. Probably not L.A., that I think about it. Now that you've gotten me my license back, I can probably get a job somewhere East."

"And what are you going to do for money in the meantime?"

She hesitated. "There's some left from what we...what you...took from Shakespeare. You always said I deserved it. I guess I'm ready to take it now."

He chuckled. It was a bitter, hollow sound. "So now that it's convenient, you want the rest of the blood money."

"Vincent, don't make this harder than it is."

"Oh, I can only imagine how hard it is for you," he said, his voice so low, so dripping with sarcasm and contempt that it was painful to hear. "Poor you, you get to run away from your problems. Remind me to feel sorry for you."

"Vincent," she said, a little louder, "do you really want this to be how we part ways?"

"So what, you're going now, right this second? Is that what you thought about in the dark, after Claudia left, and you waited for me to come home?"

She shook her head. "Not...really. A little. I guess."

"So, the rest of it came the second I suggested you get an abortion. The second I say something you don't like, you decide to run away."

"That isn't fair," she bit back, meeting him, burn for burn. "I've always _hated_ what you do. _Always_. But if you remember correctly, you made it _very clear_ that what I thought was going to be utterly disregarded, and that I could persist upon it at my own peril."

That seemed to slap him down, a little, if not much. He actually looked away for a moment. "I would say," she added, for good measure, "that I've been more than willing to overlook the flaws in this relationship. But everybody has their limit, Vincent."

To her surprise, he let out a very small sigh. "I guess they do." He kept looking away from her, out into the darkness beyond the circle of lamplight that enclosed them. Then he blinked, looked back at her. "You do realize," he added, "that Claudia is probably listening to everything we're saying."

He stood up, approached her. His lips were so close to her ear they were tickling the fine hairs. "Get what you want. We're leaving now."

"Vincent," she said, not quite as quiet, but struggling to match him, "I meant what I said-"

"Later," he said in the same breath-whisper. "For now, we go together."

She sighed, frustrated. The man was a fucking brick wall. But knowing she didn't really have a choice, and if Vincent thought they were in danger, it was the right thing to do. For the moment.

* * *

A/N: Okay, girls and...well, girls. If I have a boy out there reading, let me know, because I have been assuming everyone that's been reviewing so far is a girl. But I could be wrong in today's day and age. I hope I haven't offended anyone, abortion is a sensitive issue. I am completely against it under all circumstances, but I do know that there are people who feel different for very understandable reasons, and I'm not judging anyone.

On another note, I am ready to fall over dead from exhaustion. I fell asleep at the computer this afternoon in the middle of this chapter. I had to take a nap before I could continue, and now I simply MUST go to bed. I wanted to get this chapter done tonight because it was in my head and I wanted it out before I forgot it. However, I am at am impass. I don't know where it's going from here. I know what I'm going to do eventually, I just don't know how to get there. So there may be no update until the coming weekend. But you can be sure that if it does come to me, I will get it on file and update as soon as I can. Have fun at school, I know I will! And don't forget to REVIEW!!!

Okay, I should be in bed RIGHT THIS SECOND, but I was going over the reviews for chapter 4  
and I had to pass out some comments--

PAR: THat is cool. I feel all like a published author now, the kind of writer people take with them on trips. That was a really cool thing to do. Although I know you did it because the story is so great. I don't make this stuff up, it just comes to me and I spill it out. Hope you enjoy this chapter, but now that you're saying you identify so much with Victoria, I am seriously worried. As you can see, she is not in a good place. SO I don't want you getting all depressed, now. SO, smile! Or at least, try to. :)

SweetArwen: Thanks for sticking with me! And thanks for your comment about the conversation with Vincent. I dont' know what I was thinking...I've seen a lot of fanfics that have funny stuff like that at the end,  
and if it's done well, it's hysterical. I wasn't sure if mine was natural enough. But thanks for the encouragement. I'll try to post a conversation with Vincent if he's not in a chapter every time, just to  
warn you. Heh. :)

firegoddess164: Sorry, I forgot your number yesterday when I was writing up the thanks at the heading of  
the chapter. YOur comment about reading my fanfiction making your day less stressful made me feel like I was doing good in the world. Always in the battle with stress! But now i must go to sleep or else I won't sleep at all. Good luck in school.

LunaGrrrBack023: Oh, I'm always writing something. As you can see from my list of fanfic, I'm working on a  
Monkey Trilogy for Radio Free Roscoe. Have you read it? If you watch the show, you should, not that I'm trying to promote myself or give myself complements, but it's a pretty mature story. And I'm also very proud of my "From Dusk Till Dawn" fanfic. It has no vampires in it, and it's probably one of the better stories I've told in a while. I don't publish my original fiction on the internet because I still harbor hopes that one day I'll  
get published in the real word and not just in cyberspace. When I finish with this story, though, I am definitely going to finish the Monkey trilogy for Radio Free Roscoe. And possibly do a follow up to my From Dusk Till Dawn story. We'll have to see how the time works itself out.

Byrony Cel: What? Everything work out? Happy endings? Well...as you can see, Vincent reacted like...Vincent. Which I'm don't consider reacting well, but at least he didn't go psycho on her. Although, in my opinion, what he did was much worse. Hope I haven't made anybody hate him. I hate it when fanfic authors make you hate the character you love. But I was trying to be true to the character. Vincent seemed to be the kind of person who would do that with the best intentions, not realizing how badly he was hurting someone. But anyway...I shall let you have your own reaction. :)

All for now. G'night, everybody!


	6. Pursuit

_**Standard Disclaimer. Emily and Steve will be here all week, if anyone needs sharpshooting lessons, or to hitchhike across Mexico. Don't know where the hell they came from, but they're funny and they stay.**_

_**Pursuit**_

"I don't think you've thought this through enough."

They were in the big expensive car that Vincent had bought a few weeks ago, his "emergency" vehicle, the one that could drive over tree trunks if it had to. He tore through the jungle road, creating a wider path where it had only been narrow before. Victoria was strapped in across both sides, a big gray X across her chest, and then a lap belt. The ride was not smooth, even Vincent had the extra belt on. Although Victoria couldn't help but worry that he was hitting some bumps extra hard on purpose.

It was late into the night, well past midnight, but the moon was full and the stars were out and brilliant, giving them more than enough light. The trees were thick around them, and there were noises of animals coming from all directions, but his headlights were scaring most of them away. It was insane to be out here at this hour, but obviously he thought it worth the risk.

He was giving her his version of a lecture. It was usually very short, and to the point, and completely inarguable.

"We'll head farther south for a while," he went on. "Just for a bit, until things blow over. You need time to give this plan of yours more consideration."

Very matter of fact. She couldn't help but get the feeling that he simply wasn't going to let her go that easily. For the first time since she'd first been with him, she felt rather trapped. But no, it was Vincent. He wouldn't hurt her. It was just difficult for him to accept something like a person he cared about leaving him. It probably hadn't happened since he was very young.

Thoughts like that were no good to her now. They weakened her resolve.

"I'm not going to change my mind, Vincent," she said softly, not caring if he heard her or not. But he did hear. She heard his restrained sigh, even over the cracks and smacks of the foliage on the windows of the car.

"I don't understand why you suddenly want leave me," he said in a low voice.

She struggled with the remaining shreds of her patience. "I told you. I want to be with you. But I can't anymore."

"Because of the baby."

She dared a look at him. "Because of a lot of things. But yeah, the baby, too."

"So I either have to be a dad, or you walk."

"You're a dad either way you look at it," she said with a sardonic curl of her lips, "but that doesn't say much in today's day and age."

He would have said something else, but apparently, there were other thoughts in his brain competing for dominance. He clenched his hands around the steering wheel, and she swore they were going faster than before. He didn't speak again, merely hurled them through the underbrush. A good half-hour later, they came out onto a main road, and he found a small, island-like truck stop, a hundred miles from nowhere. He pulled up, and she was mildly surprised to see that they weren't the only ones. There were a few other cars there, particularly one large motor-home with an older man and woman in it, a small pack of bikers, and some other random travelers.

"What are we doing here?" she asked before he got out of the car.

He looked at her, pinning her with his eyes for a moment. Then, slowly, he tilted his head to one side, indicating the small building that contained the cashier and, hopefully, the restrooms. Then he got out of the car, stood and looked at her for a moment, tilted his head again.

She opened her mouth, but his finger pressed against his lips. Finally, she got it. The pregnancy hormones had to be making her daft. He thought they were still being spied on. He wanted absolute privacy.

She got out of the vehicle and followed Vincent, two paces behind, one to the left, as he had taught her a long time ago. Or maybe it only seemed long.

It was amazing that this place was open. There was just a glimmer of morning in the sky, the barest hint of dawn. The air was still cool and sweet from the night. The walk to the shack was nearly pleasant. She followed him behind, where he tried various doors until one opened. He gestured for her to come with him, and slipped inside to turn on a light.

She had been in grotesque bathrooms during her life in L.A. This one was a hazardous waste facility. She almost held her breath as she followed him in, but Vincent pulled her close, his hands roving over her body.

"What are you-"

He gave her a very sharp glance as he stopped, silently ordering her to stay still. Then, he continued. She had to submit to his probe, and realized within a few seconds that it wasn't a sexual advance - although it had the intimacy of one. He handled her so roughly at one point that she bumped the wall, and her skin crawled at the thought of touching whatever was there.

Finally, in her underwear, during the search of which she actually had to hold her breath, he found what he was looking for. She felt him yanking at the band where it thickened around her waist, and when he stood up, he was holding something small and silver.

She could guess what it was. Claudia had bugged her. It wasn't enough to bug the house - they could leave. She could bug the car, but Vincent was too smart, he could just ditch it somewhere and steal another. But to bug one of them - and Victoria had been unconscious for a bit. She shuddered to think of that woman messing with her clothes and fiddling with her underwear.

Vincent dropped the device into the sink drain. He didn't bother with the toilet - Victoria doubted that it even flushed anymore. He ran some brown water after it, sending it into the sewer system.

"We safe?" she whispered.

He considered her question for a moment. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, and he gave her a quizzical frown.

"What?" she asked.

"You're trembling."

"I am?"

Slowly, that hard look had the beginnings of a smile in one corner of his mouth. "That search turn you on?"

She wanted to punch him. Instead she just turned around and threw open the door, stepping back out into the night. Quick as a flash, Vincent was pulling her back, toward the wall, before she could round the corner. He pressed her between him and the wall, but she realized after her balance returned that he wasn't looking down into her face, but out into the wide lot that surrounded the station.

"Don't trust it," he said, just loud enough for her to hear him. "She bugged you, no doubt she bugged every car in the house just to be careful."

"How do you know?"

"Because I would have," Vincent answered. "That trick in your underwear was smart, but it also means we have to head back the other way. They'll think we're still going south, but we're going to go north."

"Vincent, we go far enough north, and we end up back in the states," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm going to the car, get what we need." He glanced down at her. "You did bring the present I gave you, didn't you?"

"It's in my bag," she answered.

"Stay here," he said, and stepped away from her to walk toward the car.

The man was like a living shadow. He slithered across the lot, and she barely saw the car door open. She heard absolutely nothing, and after a brief few minutes, he was coming back, her bag in one hand, his in another. He didn't give it to her, though - he took it back into the bathroom and checked each and every item, just to be sure. Satisfied that there wasn't anything there, he packed everything back up and guided her toward the other end of the lot.

"What are we going to do?" she asked quietly.

"Steal a car," he stated. "I left our keys in the car, so it's really more like a trade."

"Unless the people whose car we steal doesn't know to take our car," she pointed out.

"Details. It's not my fault if people don't think. Besides, anything we're going to get here? Trust me, they're getting the better end of the deal. Come on."

She didn't have much choice - it was either that or stay there and wait for Claudia to show up. While that didn't appeal, she did consider suggesting it to Vincent, thinking that maybe a good confrontation might end this entire mess. Vincent, however, would have thought of that himself if it had been a wise option.

They were heading toward a newish-looking Volkswagon Bug when she grabbed his arm. He stopped, giving her a reprimanding look over his shoulder.

"We could take another chance," she said, pulling herself up to him, speaking as quietly as she could. "We could ask that couple for a ride." She pointed to the motorhome. Mom and Pop were emptying out the trash, sweeping out the inside, and they were a rather spritely looking couple, with kind faces and the weight that came with age.

"What, you think those old farts are going to give a ride to a couple of hitchhikers like us?" He looked incredulous. "You know how unsafe it is to pick up strangers. They'll think we're psychos."

She bit her tongue. _Well, in your case, Vinnie, they would be right_. "But I have my doctor's license," she pressed. "They might trust us. And why wouldn't they, we're not going to hurt them, are we?"

"No," he said, actually beginning to consider.

"If they say no, we'll go to plan B," she said. "Improvise, Darwin, E-Ching, shit happens." She leaned a little closer, pressing on his wrist. "Come on, we don't have anything to lose."

He shrugged. "Fine. Worth a try, I guess."

* * *

For someone who had once been quite insistent that he didn't lie, Vincent was very good at it.

The couple, Emily and Steve, were as sweet as they came. They were out in Mexico, enjoying the environment and the beginnings of their retirement. They had always wanted to travel in wild places, and while they were keenly aware of the safety issues, neither one was worried. Turned out, both of them were marksman shooters, and they had been in the military at one point, which was where they'd met. After their service had ended, they'd been discharged, and gotten married. They had about a half-dozen kids, all of them involved in some kind of martial arts or another, one of them a blackbelt in something Victoria didn't recognize, but Vincent smiled and nodded to with the clear indication that he knew exactly what they were talking about. Either way you looked at it, Emily and Steve were two very tough cookies, and not worried about running into trouble.

Vincent and Victoria sat on the large, curved couch in the motor-home's miniaturized dining room slash living room. Emily was chatting away like an old relative, while Steve had them back on the road. The sun had cleared the horizon about an hour ago, and they were already talking about making another stop at the first place they found for some breakfast.

Vincent had introduced them by their real first names, Vincent and Victoria. Victoria was a doctor (true) and he was a private contractor (false) and they were married (very, very false) and spending some time in Mexico, looking into some places that could take them both on. Vincent knew too much about private contracting, though, when Steve started to ask some questions that Victoria found a little too detailed. Anyway, their car had broken down and they were stuck at the station. Mom and Pop, as Victoria saw them in her head, had saved their lives.

She listened to them chatting, listened to the woman carry on, listened to Vincent smile and be gracious and polite and interested. For a while, it was almost enough to keep her awake. She had to keep herself from staring at Vincent. It wasn't often she got to see him in his social mode, but she knew it was there. As long as he didn't have to do all the talking, he was really great at it. A real listener, the kind of person who had you utterly convinced that he cared what you were saying, like an old friend. But soon, the lack of sleep and the heavy stress of the night and morning began to take its toll on her, and she felt her eyelids growing very heavy. Before she knew it, they had drooped shut, and Vincent, very discreetly, had slipped his arm about her, pulling her closer so that her head rested on his shoulder.

"Oh, goodness me," Emily said after laughing at some comment Vincent had made that Victoria didn't catch, "listen to me, just going on and on. Your wife is drop dead tired. Would she like to lie down in the back? We have a queen size bed in this home, and it's a good quality mattress, too. Special ordered and installed. No camper beds for us."

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "You've had a rough night, having to hike to that station in the middle of nowhere. We can pick you up some carry out, you can stay in the camper and get some rest."

Victoria had opened her eyes. The thought of a bed was wonderful at the moment. She felt Vincent standing, felt him half-lift her with him.

"That would be great, Emily," he said, his voice all sweetness. "I want to hear more about your niece and nephew at lunch, though."

Emily chuckled, slapped her hand lightly across Vincent's shoulder. "Never knew a man who loved jazz as much as my little Rickie. Maybe I can dig up one of his recordings of his sax if you want to hear it."

"Sounds perfect," Vincent said, although his full attention was on Victoria now, who felt like a zombie. They went through the back curtain, and she vaguely heard Emily slip the folding door shut, giving them total privacy.

She slid down onto the bed. Vincent caught her before she went down completely. His hands found the edge of her shirt and he lifted it up, then let her slide back as he removed her shoes and jeans. Then he pulled the covers out from under her and put them over her. She shut her eyes; Emily had not been lying about the mattress. It had been slept in, but it had a nice, worn feeling. And the smell of the old people was not nearly so bad - the sheets were freshly washed, still carrying the fabric softener's scent.

Then Vincent slipped in behind her. She could feel that he had removed his shirt, the way his hairless chest brushed against her back. But his pants were still on. While it was a habit with him to sleep fully dressed, he'd told her some time back, it wasn't healthy, especially not the shoes.

Sleep floated above her head. She could feel the dark pulling her down, but Vincent was acting odd. Not a bad odd, but definitely odd. It was keeping the very last shred of unconsciousness away. His arm, which was slung over her hip, dangled down, and his finger, usually just nervously twitching, had a purpose. She realized, with a slow push of adrenaline, that his fingers were moving over her womb.

She lay still, her breathing still long and steady, as she felt his hand. It was a tender touch. From that touch, he could almost imagine what he was thinking. He was aware of the baby, he was searching for physical signs of it. Not with the cold, determined precision that he had used to search her for a bug, but with the simple curiosity of a man who had just learned he was going to be a father.

Vincent was going to be a father.

She sighed, shut her eyes again.

"Why aren't you asleep?" he asked, his mouth so close to the nape of her neck that his breath sent air over the fine hairs there, making her shiver.

"You're distracting me," she managed, although it was in a mumbled, slurred form, as her mouth was half-down into the pillow, and not all of her muscles had been touched by the adrenaline.

She felt him smile. Then his lips came closer and he kissed her. She smiled back, settled herself, and expected to feel the adrenaline drift away and sleep to return, but he didn't stop there. The kiss that had started on her neck moved down, and soon, he was exploring the plane of her back. He'd done it before, although at the time he'd been heavily occupied with another task while he was behind her, one that didn't leave much concentration to the finer details of her skin. She remembered she had liked it. Especially when he gently scraped her with his teeth.

He did so, on her shoulder-blades. Her muscles twitched in pleasure, and the adrenaline increased.

"Vincent," she half-whispered. "You're waking me up."

It didn't stop him. The hand that had been feeling the delicate swell of her belly had rested there, cupping it in the palm of his hand, but his mouth took its sweet time. She knew he knew every inch of her body well enough, but this was a different thing. It was tender, above and beyond anything he had ever done to her before. It was slow, taking its time, not seeking its own pleasure, but expressing a level of affection she hadn't known he was capable of.

He had worked all the way down to the small of her back - she didn't know how long he'd been going, it felt like forever, no single inch of her back left untouched, her spine nearly on fire from the exquisite sensations. The beginnings of her cheeks were either going to be his next target, or he was going to turn her over, which would have consequences of its own.

"You sure you want to do this in a stranger's motor-home?" she managed, realizing she had been struggling to say those words for quite a while, and simply hadn't had the focus.

That seemed to give him pause. She felt a ticklish exhalation of breath right at the bridge of her backside, had to press her legs together to suppress the shudder it sent through her. She didn't succeed too well.

The hand on her belly reached up, grasped her shoulder, pulling her toward him, onto her back. She looked up into his face, which hovered over her. He tenderly kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Probably not," he said, his mouth a millimeter away from hers. He smiled, a smile she hadn't seen in a while. His glowing smile. But then, just like that, it faded. He stared into her eyes, hard but not cold. Looking nearly desperate. She doubted anyone had ever seen him look as vulnerable as she was seeing him now. When his lips parted, she had no idea what to expect.

"Don't leave me, Victoria."

Four little words...and the power of life and death. Her throat instantly closed, she could barely breathe. She pursed her lips, moistening them, attempting some vain semblance of control.

His fingers had been idly combing through the strands of her hair, out across the pillows. She reached for it, pulling it into her hands, cradling it against her chest. Her fingers traced the scar - it was a thick line, going from between his middle and ring fingers, across his hand to the back of his thumb, with a star-burst pattern at the end that indicated it had once been much worse than it was now. The scar was old, so old it was starting to fade. It still had the faintest shiny quality of new skin. She hadn't noticed the scar for a while, not until they'd come to Mexico. He'd told her a brief story about how that had happened during his military days, when he got ambushed during a scuttling mission, and some kid had nearly taken off half of his hand with a hunter's knife before he'd gotten himself together enough to take care of business. He didn't finish the story. Didn't state the obvious. A kid had tried to kill him, and had been killed instead. She never asked what he meant by "kid," and tried to imagine he meant it in a figurative sense - someone young, in their twenties. But not a child.

He propped his head up on his other hand to look down at her. His eyes held curiosity, but he seemed content to let her do as she pleased, willing to see where she was going.

She brought the hand to her mouth. Her lips lingered over the scar. For a moment, she swore she saw his eyelids flutter. Perhaps all of that business had been his roundabout way of attempting to express to her what he wanted from her. That he wanted her to reciprocate. While the idea was not unappealing, not by a long shot, the timing was horrible on two counts - she had told him she was leaving him, and to behave in that way now would just be wrong if she was still planning to do so. Although she didn't know, at that particular second, how strong her resolve was. And second, while he could get intimate in the oddest circumstances, she could not. So she gently put his hand back down, caressed his cheek, feeling the bristle between her fingers, making the skin tingle, and rolled back toward the window.

"I really, really need a little bit of sleep, Vincent."

She felt him nod as he settled down beside her. "Then sleep, Victoria," he whispered. She closed her eyes, and he didn't disturb her again.

* * *

A/N: Geez, got more reviews for this than any other chapter. Guess it was pretty good then, huh? Well, I'll tell everyone the truth -- I have no idea wehre this is going to end up. I mean, I thought I had an idea, but the characters are resisting me, and that's usually a sign that it's not going to do what I plan for it to do, and instead it's going to go somewhere else. Although how, I've got no clue. I'd ask you guys to be patient, but you've all been so incredibly cool, I know you'll all stay with me.

**Par**: Good, glad to hear you're okay. Especially after that last chapter. Now this one is all goooooey. Fluffy, fuzzy, whatever you want to call it. Sap. Sticky sweet. Damn it was fun after all that stress. Ha! Hope I didn't make you blush with the last part on the train, although I'll admit it was kind of tame and didn't go all the way. That would have just been too much, don't you think? No, of course you don't, you're for triple X. Well, this is as detailed as I get. Maybe. Heh. MMMM...Ham sandwich. Honeybaked Ham makes the best ham salad  
I've ever had. Think I need to go get some tomorrow, now that you've mentioned it. :) And I couldn't help but be intrigued by what you're reading. IN college I majored in English, but we never got to read some of the great Russian masters so after graduation I had to take matters into my own hands. I read "Crime and Punishment," and also Soltzenitzen's "Cancer Ward," which was really dark. Love those RUssian novelists, lots of plots, lots of characters, lots of headaches. I usually understand like one or two story lines and consider myself lucky.

**firegoddess164**: I guess this chapter has given you encouragement. Truth be told, I still don't know what Vincent is going to do. He hasn't told me yet.

**Byrony Cel**: Thank you for your continued encouragement. I think I need to go see Collateral tomorrow,  
though, just so I can get back in touch with the character. I think I've been watching too many Tom Cruise movies lately and the characters are starting to bleed through.

**LunaGrrBack023**: You can say it as many times as you want, darling, I won't stop you. LOL. Yeah, I guess  
you have a point, but people like Vincnet don't ever really get out from under the shadow of their past.  
Kind of like the Borne Identity, it always comes back. Vincent would testify, but he would be sure that  
Felix's people would be coming to hunt him down, and he wouldn't want VIctoria around to get hurt, and she certainly wouldn't stay around if she had a baby to care for. So there are complications. But who knows, we'll see.

**SweetArwen**: Hit them with a stick! LMAO!!! I just had an image. Sorry, that was just funny. Yes, I like to  
thicken the plot. Although if it gets too thick it won't go down, so I have to control my urges. Heh. I'm ready to fall asleep at the computer again, and it's only 10:30 on a Friday Night! My God, I don't have a life!

**mellow yellow**: Didn't they fire the guy who called it mellow? Sorry, couldn't resist. Welcome to our little  
group here! Glad to hear you read the first one, hope you're enjoying the second. HOpefully there will be more chapters to come, and I shall be expecting other reviews of those chapters in the future. Hint wink nudge. Thanks!

All right, goodnight my dahlings. Vincent is asleep, Victoria is asleep, and soon, I shall be asleep. Pleasant  
dreams, all! May visions of a naked Vincent dance in your head.


	7. Resolutions

_**Standard Disclaimer**_

A/N: This is what is known as a filler chapter, when you have to move your characters along a timeline, but nothing incredibly important happens. Well, something does happen, and it's important...okay, I'm not giving anything away. Read on, and don't forget to REVIEW!!!!!

_**Resolutions**_

When she awoke, the motorhome was stopped, and she was alone. It was sunset - she could tell by the soft gold light that made its way through the filmy curtains. She sat up, remembering she was sleeping in Mom and Pop's bed, and that she wasn't wearing anything other than her bra and panties. She pulled herself to the foot of the bed and looked down to retrieve her clothes, only to find they had been replaced by new ones. Very new ones.

She picked them up. There was a skort made of white cotton, soft to the touch, with a flouncy sort of look to it, almost like a cheerleader's skirt, only divided. And a shirt, bright orange, button down, with a tropical pattern across it.

There was a murmuring sound coming from the front of the motorhome, and then clearer voices as people entered. She heard Vincent laughing, heard him chatting with Mom, couldn't make out any details but it was friendly. Very friendly.

Then, he pushed open the folded divider. He looked very different - black shorts, and a blue and white shirt that was more subtle than her orange one, but in the same idea.

"Good, you're up," he said, his smile still lingering. "Hungry?"

"I could eat," she said.

He nodded. "Then get dressed. We're treating Emily and Steve, to thank them for all their help."

She held up the clothes. "Where did you get these?"

"This afternoon, at lunch. You've been out for a while. Shortly after you fell asleep we stopped for breakfast and they brought you back a blueberry muffin but it was going stale so I ate it." He pulled the door shut behind him, made an almost anxious gesture toward her. "Come on, you can listen and dress at the same time."

He went on to tell her about lunch, he had been up by then, and the place they'd stopped at had been next to a tourist trap that happened to have a clothing section in the back. It was all very hokey stuff - he'd done his best to pick out things with taste. She was a little amazed that he would pick orange for her, but when she put it on, she realized he'd been right. The color complemented her skin tone. And the short...wow, they were short. Apparently Vincent wanted her to show off her legs more, even if she didn't think much of them.

"Here, grabbed you some hemp sandals, too," he said as she brushed her hair in with the brush from her bag. "Thought they might be more comfortable than those walking shoes I made you wear before."

She nodded, slipping them on. Hemp wasn't the softest material in the world, but it kept her feet cool. Vincent took her hand and pulled her with him through the length of the motorhome, out the front door, where Mom and Pop were waiting.

"Ah, there's the girl!" Pop said, his face smiling. He reminded Victoria just a bit of her own father. She couldn't help but smile back, in spite of her initial crankiness that always happened after waking up. "You sleep up an appetite?"

"Yeah," she replied, and included Mom in her smile. "You've been so nice, I really, really appreciate you letting me use your bed."

"No problem honey." She winked at her. "Girl in your condition needs at the rest she can get."

Victoria's smile faltered for just a second, and then brightened. "Does it show?" she whispered.

"Only to someone who knows what it looks like," Emily replied, putting a matronly arm around her back. The old woman smiled up at Vincent. "Congratulations to you both!"

Vincent, who had been smiling pleasantly all the while, maintained his smile, but it left his eyes. "Well, look, come on, Steve needs to take his medicine and I know Victoria hasn't eaten all day. Let's go inside."

* * *

Everyone always said in Mexico to never drink the water. That ruled out iced tea, lemonade, and even coffee. So that meant Victoria was stuck drinking soda, and all they had was Coke and Sprite. She was so thirsty she downed at least three glasses of the sugary lemon-lime drink before their food showed up.

She had a craving for steak, and man, was the steak good. She finished it, the salad, even ate the skin from the baked potato. Emily offered her a piece of her fried chicken, which she found herself taking gladly, and she was munching Vincent's French fries afterward, as he rarely ate them, referring to them as only garnish for the sandwich. The best part, though, was the vegetables that came on the side. Steamed and flavored with a variety of spices, they were sweet and spicy and salty all at once, and she could have ordered a heaping plate of just them for desert and not blinked. However, Steve had a sweet tooth, and he wanted apple pie alamode, which put the vision of a big chocolate brownie with ice cream on top into Victoria's head.

"You're going to get fat," Vincent teased as she scooped up the last of the ice cream and finished the rest of her Sprite.

"Oh, you better believe it!" Emily said cheerfully, eyes glowing as she looked at the young couple across the table. "Big and round in forty weeks. How far along are you, dear?"

"I think eight," she replied, noting Vincent's distinct mood change again.

"Well, eat whenever you want, whatever you want. That's the key. And see a doctor. Have you seen a doctor yet, dear?"

"She is a doctor," Vincent said in a low voice.

"Yes, but a physician can't heal thyself," Steve put in. "You need a good obstetrician. Here in Mexico isn't any kind of place for that, you need to go back to the States. Vincent, didn't you say you were heading back their soon?"

"Yeah, I did mention that," Vincent said, giving Victoria a sideways glance.

"Well, sooner rather than later," Steve said. "If you're eight weeks along and you don't have a doctor yet, then you can't have been getting the right vitamins. The right pre-natal care makes all the difference."

"Well, where they're headed, dear," Emily put in, "I think Vicki here could find someone who could take a quick look at her, make sure everything is going okay, get her started until she can get someone permanent. They aren't all butchers down here, you know."

"Yeah, true enough. That guy in Mexico City fixed you right up good, didn't he?" Steve reminisced.

Victoria was tempted to say something then and there, ask Vincent where they were going, but knew that was a bad idea. To show any lack of harmony between them while they were in the middle of an act would have only served to make Vincent more tense than he already was. Not that he had seemed tense before they'd started talking about her pregnancy.

The thought soured her stomach. Suddenly all the food felt like a big lump of rock in her gut.

More light conversation, and then a final ride in the motorhome, where Emily finally dug out her son's CD and played it for Vincent, who said that her son was terrific on the sax. An hour later, they were driving through fancier streets, and catching the sight of the ocean between the tall, white buildings.

"Well, there's your hotel," Steve said, pointing as they pulled into a parking lot. "Sorry we can't get you closer, but they don't let motorhomes into those big round driveways.

Victoria looked out the window. It was a very grand place, one of those resorts she saw only in movies and on postcards that beckoned the tourist industry to visit exotic Mexico. Vincent offered to pay Mom and Pop for gas, was refused, instead he got their address for when they returned to the States, and a friendly invitation to never hesitate to drop by and say hello. And then Victoria and Vincent were alone with their bags slung over their shoulders. He offered her his arm, which she took, and they went into the hotel.

* * *

Vincent was on a roll that day. He'd gotten them the bridal suite, claiming he and his wife were on a second honeymoon. He gave them his credit card name (Albert Ricardo) and away they had gone into the most beautiful hotel room Victoria had ever seen.

It was three rooms - a sitting room, a dining room/kitchen, and a bedroom with a larger bed in it than she could imagine sleeping in. The bathroom could have made four, with the gigantic round tub deep enough for the both of them to sit in. There were complimentary items everywhere, snacks in the fridge, flowers in the bedroom, thick white robes embossed with gold emblems, even some...personal items in the drawer beside the bed. And the best part was that it looked right out onto the resort's private beach, which was dark now, but faced east, where the sun would be rising in the morning.

Victoria didn't know what to do. She just stood there, looking around, open-mouthed. If she'd been with anyone else, she would have thought it was a ploy to get her to stay with him. However, it was Vincent, and Vincent didn't resort to cheap ploys like that.

Did he?

"Want a bath?" he said, coming out of the room in question. "I started running some hot water for you, and there's bubbles."

"Bubbles?" she echoed. "You hate bubbles."

"Yeah, but you don't." He gave her a distinct come-hither look. In his brightly colored clothes, and in the faint lights from outside, he looked much younger - the lines on his face softened. He reached out a hand to her. "Come on...you're tense, you need to relax."

"_I'm_ tense," she said, but took his hand. "Hello, pot, I'm kettle."

He chuckled. "Come on...let's finish what we started before."

* * *

It wasn't part of their natural routine to do things like that together. There had been a few times in the shower, but that had been in the beginning, when she could sense Vincent's amazement at having a woman so close at hand, someone he cared about and who cared about him. Their honeymoon - although it really should have lasted longer. Two months was the limit of their relationship, maybe two and a half. They didn't celebrate anniversaries, although Victoria was aware of them. They would never get a chance to ignore their three-month one.

Although Vincent seemed hell-bent on making the best of what time he had left.

She didn't think she'd be tired after sleeping all day, but she learned there was a delicious difference between being tired and being relaxed. Vincent was playful in the bathtub, tolerating the bubbles, even permitting her to put a heap of them on her head. After a short time, Victoria found herself getting lost in the romance of the moment, thinking briefly she was with a normal man, that they _were_ celebrating their honeymoon, that they were new lovers, still friends, just getting to know each other and reveling in what they already did know.

Vincent had to have been a masseuse in a previous life. She'd always known his hands were strong, and that he was gentle, but it was a different experience. He never touched her anywhere intimate - his fingers simply worked at all the muscles in her back, in her arms, her legs. He washed her hair, twisting the soapy locks up and looping them onto her head like a little boy playing with clay. When he was done, he let her reciprocate, which she did, trying to imitate what he'd done and finding that even if it wasn't a perfect replication, Vincent enjoyed it. When they were done, he was leaning against her, his back pressing against her breasts, his head resting on her shoulder, her chin against his temple. The smell of the shampoo was expensive - salty-sweet, like the ocean. It lingered about them, relaxing. She understood a few of the benefits of aromatherapy, but doubted it could be as satisfying as this.

He was playing with a wet lock of her hair that had fallen forward and rested across his chest. "Victoria," he whispered.

"Hmmm?" It was a vibration through her chest into his back.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you touch me sooner."

She had half-closed her eyes. They opened only a little. "I never knew you were doing that."

"Not...not like that," he said, and she felt him shift his shoulders, attempting not to let himself get tense. She hadn't realized before then how relaxed _he_ was, just in her arms, abandoning himself to her. "Just...no one has ever touched me before."

"No one?" she whispered.

"Not like you. Not...the way you do." He raised his eyes, looking at her. "No one ever wanted to."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said, smoothing the hair away from his face. It seemed much darker in its wet state, increasing the youth of his face.

He chuckled. It rippled against her chest. "Well...I do have a tendency to be modest."

"No," she teased. "You don't. You just don't know." She ran her fingers through his hair, through the top, tips against his scalp, feeling the thickness of it. He was lucky - so many men had to worry about hair loss.

"What don't I know?"

She tightened her arms around him, and he settled further into her grasp. The warm water was still about them, rippling only with their movement. "What it might have been like for you."

She didn't need to say the rest. He'd thought about it before, on one of those rare nights when he wanted to talk, when he wanted her to know more about him than just facts and dates and favorite things. He thought about it, what his life would have been like if his mother hadn't died, if his father hadn't beat him up, if he'd been raised like a normal kid. He usually didn't get far, as his tendency was not to dwell on what-ifs and might-have-beens. _Darwin, E-Ching, roll with it baby, it's life, it happens_.

"I see...you would have been an actor," she whispered.

He chuckled. "An actor? Why?"

"Because you're very good at pretending," she said in a light voice. "And you would have made...."

"T.V. shows? Like the Sopranos?"

"No, movies. Big ones, lots of action, because you like being active. And you would have been famous, and girls would have been throwing themselves at you, and for a long time, maybe you'd let them."

"Sounds like a lot of emptiness to me," he murmured.

"Well, eventually, you would have met a woman," Victoria went on, as if seeing it in front of her, a movie behind her eyes. "She would have been...a red-head."

He smiled.

"And you would get married and have babies and be a father to them."

"Doesn't sound like me."

"No, you wouldn't be afraid of being a father because you would know what one is supposed to be like," she said, her tone still gentle, and secretly amazed that he was listening, that he wasn't getting upset, and that she actually had the guts to say what she was saying.

"What about you?" he asked. "Would I know you?"

"Oh, I would definitely be a fan," she said, smiling down at him. "I'd be one in a crowd of a thousand other girls wanting to shake your hand. You would be walking down a red carpet with your pretty red-head wife on your arm, looking gorgeous in a green silk dress that brought out her eyes, and you in a sleek tuxedo. Or maybe just a very expensive black silk Armani suit."

"I do like Armani."

"And maybe you'd see me, and I'd be lucky enough to get to shake your hand."

He frowned. "If I saw you...that's all I'd do? I'd shake your hand?"

She nodded. "You'd be married, with the babies, you'd be happy with your life."

His frown softened, but he still looked sad. "I don't know. If I saw you, maybe I'd realize it was all a mistake."

She shook her head. "No, you wouldn't."

"Maybe I'd leave my wife to be with you."

She laughed a bit loudly. "No, you definitely wouldn't. Not for me, anyway. Maybe some hot Spanish babe with Audrey Hepburn hair and big soft red lips. But not me."

"Why not you?"

"Because you're way out of my league," she sighed, resting her head back against the porcelain rim of the tub.

He was quiet for a long moment. "I think I like it better the way it is now."

"The only way I could see that is if the whole world suddenly hated you for leaving your gorgeous wife for a gorgeous girlfriend, and everybody took her side and the poor babies you left behind."

He lifted up his head. "The water is getting cold," he said. "Come on...let's dry off."

She watched him get up, enjoying the peep show while it lasted. When he was dry, he pulled her out of the tub and did the same for her, then wrapped her up in the big towel and carried her to the bed.

"What are you doing?" she giggled when he set her down and straddled her, pinning her in the towel underneath him.

He looked down into her face, smiling. "I'm pretending you're that gorgeous red-headed wife you said I'd have. And maybe later on, you'll be that gorgeous Spanish girlfriend who looks like Audrey Hepburn."

She giggled as his mouth descended onto her, stifling her.

"Ah," she said as she caught her breath. "So there _was_ something appealing about that little story I told."

"Only the part where you said I'd get to meet you," he said, pulling away the towel. He sighed, running his fingers through her wet hair. "No one has ever let me touch them," he whispered, his voice returning to that deep, wistful melancholy from before, "like you let me touch you. I don't know if anyone's ever wanted me to."

"Maybe you just never gave them a chance to find out," she replied.

"Hm." He threw the towel behind them onto the floor. "Well...I guess I'm glad it worked out this way, then."

* * *

Vincent slept that night. It was a rare thing, and usually done while she was asleep herself, so she rarely got to witness it. It was a light sleep, so she didn't move much. Just watched him, his chest rising and falling, the lines on his face melting. She imagined what he looked like when he was young. She imagined what he'd look like with dark hair, wondered if maybe he'd tried it himself once upon a time. The image was pleasing, but it wasn't her Vincent. It was the Vincent from the fantasy life she'd made up, where he was someone else.

Someone who wasn't hers.

She sighed, resting on her side, arms wrapped around her midsection, knees bent. Vincent was on his side, too, but he was straight, one arm jammed under his pillow, the other stretched out toward her, his knuckles just brushing her forearm. She didn't want to move. She knew the slightest movement would wake him. She couldn't imagine never being able to really sleep. Perhaps she liked her sleep too much. Vincent had once told her that the higher the life from, the less sleep was necessary.

It was insane. She shouldn't love him this much. She shouldn't. It was wrong. He was a killer. He took money and he took lives. Cold blooded, calculating...

She pressed her face down into her pillow. What if their baby was the same way? What if it was genetic? What if she was gestating a monster?

She closed her eyes, tightly, pushing away the images. No. It wasn't true, she couldn't believe it. The argument of nature verses nurture had always come up even. Her baby would have the best life she could give him...or her. He would not grow up to be like that.

She opened her eyes. Vincent was right. He wasn't father material. He didn't know how to be a dad - she'd said it herself. Her earlier thoughts returned, about how she was able to consciously walk around his eccentricities and adjust herself to his habits was possible only because she chose those things. A baby wouldn't be able to choose. It would be the center of its own universe, its own nature. And it would become a product of its environment. Especially if that environment contained a murderer.

She was crazy to think that she could stay with him and have his child. She had to choose.

Victoria drew a shuddering breath. It had really only been a matter of time.

Gently, she pushed herself upright, making as little vibrations into the mattress as possible. She slipped off the bed and went to the closet, found herself a robe, and wrapped herself up in it. She was amazed that Vincent didn't wake up, especially with the low hum of the sliding door. She had to grin - apparently she'd worn him out, finally. It was about time.

In the main room, there was a huge wall made of windows with a door in the middle. It let out to a private patio. She propped the door open, letting in the crisp morning breezes, and went to sit in a chair to watch the sun come up.

It was a shame, how the peaceful moments made her so aware of how little peace her life really had. Yet, when Vincent had rejected the pretty picture she'd made for him, she had understood. In her heart of hearts, she couldn't help but feel that being with him, even for the short time, had been worth it.

"Wow, I really slept," Vincent said when he emerged from the opened door at about seven o'clock. The sun was already above the horizon line and starting its climb. He sat down in a chair beside hers, propped up his feet and slid on his sunglasses. "How about you?"

"A little...since I slept so much yesterday," she admitted.

"Yeah, yesterday was a trip." He looked around, found an old newspaper sitting on the small plastic table in front of them, pulled it toward him and browsed the main headlines. It was an American paper, even older than she'd thought at first, and slightly yellow around the edges. It had obviously been sitting there for a while.

"You ever do that before?" she asked. "Hitchhike with strangers?"

"Never, actually." He tossed her a little smile. "It was a stroke of brilliance, really. Claudia would never suspect it."

"I don't know," Victoria said slowly, shifting a little in her chair.

"Listen to the optimist," he quipped. "I'm supposed to be the paranoid one, Victoria."

She chuckled. "Yes, but I'm the woman. It's my nature."

"Thank God," he murmured, then threw the paper down. "This is shit. I'm going to go downstairs, see if I can't dig up something more recent." He stood up, bent down, kissed her lightly on the lips and went into the suite. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You want anything?"

"I'm going to order some coffee from room service," she said, raising her voice to call after him inside, "if you think the water is safe enough."

"In a place like this, I'm sure it is," he answered from the bedroom as he dressed. "Yeah, coffee sounds good, get some Danish, too. Something light. That supper yesterday is still sticking to my ribs."

He picked up the hotel room key-card and left. It took him a little longer than he expected, as when he went downstairs, he found himself bombarded with more choices than he'd imagined. He wound up picking up about three more magazines than he'd intended, as well as a few bottles of water, before charging it all to the room and heading back upstairs.

When he got there, Victoria was not on the patio. He walked into the bedroom, expecting to find her getting dressed. What he saw was Victoria, curled in a fetal position, her robe pulled up around her hips. Her lower legs and feet had been cut to bloody ribbons, and her hands were tied from wrist to elbow by the cord from the telephone. She was sobbing in a way that clearly showed she was desperately trying to stop.

Vincent looked up. Immediately behind her, holding a very expensive looking handgun to Victoria's temple, was Claudia.

"Good morning, Vincent," she said.

* * *

A/N: Well, this is what is known as a filler chapter with a good cliffhanger end. I had to use the last two chapters to get the characters from point A to point B and I confess I did go the long way, but it was fun anyway. It'll be a few days before another chapter is ready. I've started on the big showndown, but I don't know where it's going to go yet. And as you can tell, by the conversation Victoria and Vincent were having, I had watched WAAAAAAAY too many Tom Cruise movies this week. In the meantime...

**Par**: Yeah, it was pretty stressy and angsty. Although this chapter started out very sappy and romantic, it went into stress really quick. Funny you should mention Fight Club, I read that last summer, and I really understood the movie much better, even though I loved the movie, period. I probably would have been a little disappointed with the movie if I'd read the book first. I've always said that any movie made based on a book is just a big advertisement for the book itself -- like the movie, love the book. I never got to read too many Latino writers in college, I did major world authors, major American authors, major British authors (and I really liked the professor for that class, I quote some of the things he said to this day) and Women in Literature, Science FIction, and my favorite, Pop CUlture, where we had to read the original book for "Who Framed Roger Rabbit," in which the rabbit actually DID kill the guy! And we read MAUS, the graphic novel about the holocaust, and let's see...it was just a great, interesting class. We learned what the word "Haver" means from the song "500 Miles" by the Proclaimers. Anyway, I am soooo rambling. You and I need to keep in touch after this fanfic is over, I have a feeling we have a lot more in common. Especially the bit about the screenplays. :)

**LunaGrrBack023**: I am totally a music person. In fact, I'm putting together a mixed CD for the story, and I already have the Collateral soundtrack, plus some other songs that really hit home with that story. My favorite two tracks on the Collateral soundtrack are "Destino de Abril" by the Green Car Motel, and Antoni Pinto's "Requiem." I wouldn't be able to write at all without the music! LOL. Anyway, let me know what you think of the Radio Free Roscoe story...I get the reviews via email so even reviews from old stories get bounced to me.

**Marie**: Welcome to the club! Yes, Victoria is rather patient, isn't she? I don't think so much of her as patient, as a person who has an incredible ability to adapt to her circumstances, considering what she's been through. She's been through such hell, losing her license to practice, and her life was in such a dark place, that being with Vincent is the only light she feels she has. But that's just my impression of her...everyone else is entitled to their own. :)

**Byrony Cel**: It doesn't seem like something Vincent would do, huh? I can see that point. At the same time, I have to say that Vincent is a wizz at improvising. I love his little speech in the jazz club about how people go through the same routine every day, playing it safe. Where will you be ten years from now? You don't know where you'll be ten minutes from now. So I would never put anything past him. :)

All right, see you guys again in a few days. REVIEW!


	8. InterludeNot A Chapter

_**Interlude**_

(In which the author discovers that she had completely forgotten about an important, even if not a major, character in the story.)

Victoria: Where is Max?

Me: Uh...with Annie, where he belongs.

Victoria: No, I mean Max, my little puppy? The one Vincent bought for me?

Me: (very embarrassed) Um...what puppy?

Victoria: Oh come on! After all the deal you made? Heaping that stuff on me about feeling sympathy for the little guy? The one the guy was holding in his hand at Union Station? You remember the puppy. You remember Max.

Me: Well, wasn't he at the house with you in Mexico?

Victoria: He was...oh my gosh, we left him!

(Vincent enters the room)

Vincent: What are you two carrying on about?

Me: Nothing.

Victoria: My puppy! We have to go back for him!

Vincent: You mean Max? That puppy I paid eight hundred and fifty dollars for?

Me: Oh bloody hell.

Vincent: What do you mean, we forgot him?

Victoria: We left him at your house in Mexico. We have to go back.

Vincent: We can't go back. You're tied up on a bed with a gun to your head. I'm about to open a can of whoop-ass. There isn't time.

(Vincent turns and looks at me)

Vincent: You forgot about the dog, didn't you?

Me: What are you talking about? He's your dog. Yours and Victoria's. It's YOUR responsibility, not mine.

Vincent: Don't give me that shit. You were in charge of keeping track of everybody. And you forgot all about the dog. Now look how upset Victoria is.

Victoria: (sobbing) I want my puppy!

Me: Oh crap in a hat...pull it together, woman, you got bigger problems.

Vincent: Don't talk to her like that.

Victoria: Don't talk to me like that!

(Claudia enters)

Claudia: What the hell is going on in here?

Vincent: She forgot the puppy.

Claudia: You forgot the puppy?

Me: Victoria, stop crying!

Vincent: I said, don't talk to her like that. You're the one who forgot her puppy.

Claudia: You forgot the puppy. Man, that's cold. Even _I_ wouldn't have forgotten the puppy.

Me: Oh, great, now I'm getting hell from _two_ murdering psychopaths.

Vincent: Excuse me, not psychopaths, _sociopaths_. There is a difference.

Me: Whatever. What am I supposed to do about it?

Vincent: You're the author, think of something.

Claudia: Man, poor little puppy, back in that big house, all by himself.

Victoria: (sobbing harder) Poor little Max!

Claudia: (to Vincent) You let her name the puppy Max?

Vincent: Don't blame me, that's her fault again.

Me: Bloody hell. You know, this would never have happened if I'd had an editor looking through my story before I published it. She would have gone, "Hey, where's that puppy?" and I would have put him in and all of this wouldn't have happened. Although I think SweetArwen did try to warn me...

Vincent: Well, that's the price you pay for free publishing on the internet. Now, oh great and powerful author, you need to get your ass back to that house and get the puppy. We've got a bad situation here and you're the only one who can take care of it right now. Besides, it would look even more stupid than it already does if you made us go back to get the puppy. People would think WE were to blame or something, when it was just you.

Me: (without a word, goes to the house in Mexico, trips over the coffee table by the couch, throws out the rotten oranges, searched through the dark for Max the puppy because the electricity has all been shut off because Vincent and Victoria didn't pay the bill. Finds the puppy, picks it up, puts it in its carrier.)

Victoria: Max!

Me: Yeah, yeah, here's Max. In his carrier.

Vincent: About time.

Me: Don't get all worked up. It won't do you any good where the next chapter is going.

Claudia: Well, at least Victoria will shut up about it.

(Vincent punches her. Victoria kicks her. Various reviewers throw rotten tomatoes at her)

Claudia: Hey! (gets tomatoes out of her hair) What the hell? 

Me: Better you than me.

Claudia: _I_ didn't forget about the puppy!

Me: No, you just tied up Victoria and keep torturing Vincent.

Claudia: Oh please, like you don't like it when I torture Vincent.

Me: I'd prefer not to comment with him standing right there.

Vincent: Right. Well, shall we get on with this? Get back to the regular story?

Me: Yeah, I just got to figure out how I'm going to explain Max sudden reappearing.

(Victoria is too busy kissing Max to pay any more attention to the conversation)

Claudia: Just slip it in. Nobody will notice.

Vincent: That's what the girls always say to me...hey, that wasn't cool!

Me: Sorry, couldn't resist. Okay, hope this solves our problem. See you in a few days with the continuing drama!


	9. Liabilities

_**Standard Disclaimer**_

_**Liabilities**_

Fanning should have listened to those little voices inside him that said not to trust Claudia any farther than he could throw her.

"Okay, the one in the car is gone," Claudia had said, counting off the dots on the radar. "And now he's found the one in her underwear." She shot Fanning a decidedly wicked look. "Care to speculate how he managed that?"

Fanning just glared at her. She started up their vehicle, the engine nearly silent as it came to life.

They followed. For hours they followed. Vincent was taking a very obscure route, and since they had a location on them at every minute, it was safer and easier to take a more mainstream route, just to let their quarry feel like they had lost their pursuers. They found the car at some desert island of a rest stop, with it empty and the engine still warm.

"I should have bugged the dog," Claudia said.

Fanning shook his head. "They would have either gotten rid of the collar, or if you'd taken the lesser route, that would have been lost the first time he took a shit."

She winked at him. "There are other ways." She showed him her arm, the soft underside where the blue veins could be seen through her pale skin. There was a dark smudge in the middle, easily mistaken for an old scar. Fanning looked closer and noticed the faintness of the rising ridges, almost like the lines on a scanning tag.

"You think they don't know where I am at all times?" she asked. "You think they let people like us just wander around, unchecked? They teach me how to be invisible, Ray darling. They have to have a way to watch me, somehow."

Fanning rubbed his arm in sympathy. True, there were days when he felt like the L.A.P.D. thought they owned him, but he'd never been branded. It must be a strange feeling, that mark on her arm.

"So how do agents go rogue then, if they're tagged like that?" he asked as they climbed back into the car.

She looked down at her arm. "The braver ones just use a knife. But they implant it very close to the major artery, so that cutting it out is a rather dangerous thing if not done properly. Then, if you have a lot of money, there are ways to sabotage it. But that hurts even worse than cutting it out."

She turned the car back on, and focused on the radar screen. The last blimp, the very last bug she had planted on them, was still blinking. It headed in a steady northern direction.

"Think they're headed back to the states?" Fanning asked hopefully.

"That was the plan," Claudia murmured, "but somehow I think Vincent is going to hold off. Problem with chasing guys like him, they know all your tricks. Anybody else would have fled back to the states right now and that way we could have gotten him into legal custody without any more subterfuge, but Vincent will wait. Victoria, though...I don't know."

Fanning considered her words. "You think she'll leave him?"

"That's what she said before, isn't it?"

"You don't think that was just a reaction to what had happened? You don't think Vincent will talk her out of it?"

"You know her better than me, Ray," Claudia said, looking for a moment like a very ordinary human being, as flawed as the rest of them. But there was a sharpness in her eyes that clearly told Fanning she was just trying to pick his brain instead of letting him pick hers. "You think she'll stay?"

"I think she'd be stupid to stay," Fanning said, "but considering what she's done already, she might feel like she doesn't have another choice."

"The baby will drive her away," Claudia said confidently. "Look at those tire tracks. Big, wide ones. A motor home passed through here. It's in the same general direction. I think Vinnie and his chickadee hitched a ride."

"Why will the baby drive her away?" Fanning pressed.

Claudia shook her head, talking casually as she drove, one arm hanging out the window. "You still haven't picked that one up? Vincent is not going to be a father. It isn't part of his make-up. You know how fucked up his real father was? He doesn't have a single clue. No more than I do about how to be a mother. And she won't give the baby up. It's not in her make-up either. They've come to an impass and the only way out is to part ways." Claudia paused. "Which does pose a slight problem for us."

"Like?"

"Like now we're racing the clock. We have to corner them before Victoria can walk. If we don't, Vincent won't have any liabilities. He'll be a free agent and that will make him extremely dangerous."

"You're saying he isn't dangerous as long as Victoria is around?"

Claudia smirked. "Let's just say, she dulls his teeth. Either she's going to leave him or he'll leave her. Although if he hasn't done it by now, it's only going to make things worse later."

Fanning let the silence rest for a few minutes. It bugged him to no end that Claudia kept referring to Victoria as a "liability." While Claudia had promised not to hurt her during the earlier interrogation, the bruise she had left had really pissed Fanning off. Claudia insisted that it was mostly harmless, completely superficial, and that it was absolutely necessary because if she hadn't, Victoria might have alerted a neighbor and spoiled Claudia's chance to talk to her. Not that there were a lot of neighbors around, Fanning noted, but couldn't help but agree with the effectiveness of her choices.

He hadn't liked listening to the way Claudia preyed on all of Victoria's weaknesses and fears, but as a cop, he knew it was just good old fashioned interrogation. A part of the job. He'd done it himself once or twice. It wasn't personal, it was just business.

Although he was sure that the bruise on her temple was just one little thing that was a prelude to the rest of the shit about to go down.

He really should have listened to those little voices.

In the trunk of the car, with his wrists and ankles tied so tightly he could feel his fingers and toes starting to lose circulation, Fanning struggled. He should never have taken his eyes off Claudia for a second. All that talk, all that sharing about her job, all that openness had just been a ruse, a distraction. The second they'd arrived at the resort, his little alarms had started to go off - the alarms that told him he was standing in the middle of a major crime scene, even though there was only broken glass, tire tracks, and spray patterns of blood. Claudia was too cool, too rational. They'd parked all the way on the other side of the resort's huge lot, where all the rich people had their expensive vehicles parked, and there were high black iron gates with security all around. She showed the man at the check-in window something that Fanning didn't see before he let her through, and also after she'd slipped him a hundred dollar bill. In a private corner, she'd gotten out, and called to Fanning to come over and help her with something on the other side.

Not imagining what in the hell she would need help with, he'd come around the corner. No one saw her clobber him head-on in the face, right between the eyes. She hadn't broken his nose, but she had scrambled his brains long enough for her to knock his feet right out from under him and land him on his back, where his weight effectively knocked all the wind out of his lungs. As he struggled to breath, she had him flipped over and her knees in his kidneys, pinning him in place. She tied his wrists first, hard and tight, then his ankles. She had slid the back door open and pulled him inside, then opened some compartment from the back seat that led right to the trunk, which she shoved him through.

"What...what...what the fuck are you doing?" he gasped, finally able to breath again.

"Sorry, Ray," she said, smoothing back the hair that had fallen into his face. "You were a big help, but now I've got to do this on my own, and I know you're gonna be really pissed at me for doing what I have to do right now."

"What are you going to do?" he croaked.

She just shook her head. "Trade secret, dear. Now you be good and wait here. Victoria is probably going to need you pretty badly when I'm done. It was a lot of fun working with you, while it lasted." She kissed his cheek. "Bye." And she locked him in.

* * *

From his carrier, on the floor, beside the bed, Max was barking up a royal fit (_a/n: see, told you I fixed it_). It had reached his ears the second he'd come into the room, but he was used to Max's barking fits when he was in unfamiliar places, and hadn't thought much of it.

"Careful," Claudia said, when she saw the jump Vincent made. "I _will _shoot her."

"You shoot her and I'll kill you," Vincent said in a very low, very dangerous voice.

"You'll try. But I will take her with me, and it will be too bad for you." She smiled. "Plus, I'd think I have pretty good odds on walking away from you, Vincent."

"You didn't last time."

"Oh, bother," she said with a sly shake of her head. "Well, then I guess it stands to reason that I want a rematch, isn't it?"

Max continued to bark.

"Quiet, Max," Vincent said, his voice only a few notches above his speaking voice. Instantly, the tiny animal obeyed. To Claudia, he said, "What the fuck do you want?"

"First of all, I want you to put all that stuff down. Right there." She pointed with her free hand. "Now."

Vincent obeyed. The bottles of water rolled around on the sleek dresser's top, one of them hitting the floor.

"Leave it," Claudia sighed. "Clumsy ox."

"What are you doing here, Claudia?" Vincent snapped. His eyes went down, taking in the damage done to Victoria again. "What in God's name were you thinking?"

"Oh, relax, Vincent, I was very careful not to hit anything that might hurt the baby," Claudia said in a voice that was so coolly professional, Victoria shuddered underneath the gun pointed at her head. "Looks like this mommy is going to be confined to bed rest for a while, though, after we're done."

Vincent gritted his teeth so hard they ached.

"You didn't listen to me, Vincent," Claudia sighed. "I tried to tell you, really I did. Liabilities. Two of them, now. Look at you! Six months ago you would have slashed my throat already. Now, you're worried about somebody's life. It's practically amusing."

Victoria turned her face and pressed it into the mattress in an attempt to stifle her sobs.

Vincent had been relatively calm until that moment. But the word "liabilities," coming from her mouth again, referring to Victoria and now the baby, it was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Whatever it is you think you're going to accomplish with this," Vincent said, his voice dangerously calm, "I hope it was worth the risk."

"Oh, it's worth it," Claudia said with a toss of her head. "Now, the first thing you're going to do, Vincey baby, is you're going to strip."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Strip," she said, her voice much colder this time. "Shirt, shoes, pants. All of it off. I want to make sure you don't have any weapons."

Vincent smirked at her. "Why don't you just admit you want to see me naked, Claudia."

Claudia scoffed. It was a rather transparent attempt to throw her off. He should have known better. "Please. I've seen Brad Pitt naked. Take off your shirt and your shorts. Now."

Vincent hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached up and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. It slid off his shoulders, and then he pushed the shorts he was wearing down to his ankles and stepped out of them. All this time, he did not take his eyes off of Claudia, and she met his glare the whole way.

"Good boy," she said. "Lift up the undertee. Want to be sure."

He lifted it up. By now Victoria had quieted her sobs into shuddering breaths, and she looked up in time to see the very ugly scar that the bullet had left in his chest, the night Max had shot him. It felt like such a long time ago.

Claudia clucked her tongue. "Looks like that one hurt."

"So-so," Vincent said.

"Probably nearly killed you."

"Probably did."

"Good thing you had the good doctor here to take care of you, huh?" Claudia said with a nudge of the gun barrel against Victoria's shoulder. "Well, at least now I know where it all came from."

"You don't know shit, Claudia," Vincent said smoothly. "You never will."

Claudia stared at him for a moment, and then chuckled. "Oh, with love comes wisdom, is that it? I don't know shit because I've never been in love. Well, from where I'm standing, it really looks like a pretty shitty situation to me. I mean, someone comes in, puts a gun to your girl, and you do whatever you're told. Let's see what else you'll do, other than show me your shorts. Go sit down in that chair." She pointed to the of the hotel chairs, its arms made of solid wood, sitting pulled out a bit from the room's solitary table. "I've got four of those plastic utility straps sitting there. Pick them up.".

Vincent glanced at the chair. He hesitated this time, glancing down at Victoria, who could only stare at him, mute with remorse.

"Yeah, it's all her fault," Claudia said aloud. "You sure you just don't want me to shoot her for you now?" She cocked the gun.

"No," Vincent said, his eyes shooting up to Claudia's arm. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Claudia taunted.

"Don't threaten her. I'll do it." He walked over to the chair. "Uncock the gun and I'll sit."

Claudia seemed to consider. Then, both heard the sound of the hammer being put back in place. Vincent, true to his word, sat down, the plastic straps in his hand. He couldn't help but notice they were exactly like the ones he'd used to tie Max's hands to the steering wheel.

"Now put them on your ankles first, then your wrists. You'll have to pull the last one with your teeth."

Vincent had his hands on his knees at the moment, and considered the strips of plastic with their squared ends. Victoria waited in agony to see what he would do. If he tied himself to that chair, he was utterly helpless. That was it.

"I really don't know what you want to accomplish with this, Claudia," Vincent said, not moving his hand. "I mean, if you wanted to bring me in, to testify against Felix, this is really not the way to do it."

Claudia smiled at him. "What makes you so sure we need you?" she said. "We have Max. He talked to Felix. He identified you."

"That isn't enough and you know it. Besides, why else would you go through all of this? What is it you really want?"

"Put those on and I'll tell you," Claudia said, her voice a mild sing-song.

Vincent waited another moment, sighed, and bent down. The straps went around his ankles, and then he loosely pulled them around his wrists. He bent down and used his teeth to pull the plastic tight and then let go, with them locked firmly in place. First the right wrist, then the left.

"Good," Claudia sighed, then crawled onto the bed, sitting down at the head, Victoria at her heavily booted feet - clear kicking distance, Vincent noted. She moved wrong and Claudia would knock her senseless. "Now we can talk. That gun was getting heavy. Don't have the arm power I used to."

"Cut the shit," Vincent said. "You said you'd tell me. How did you even find us?"

"That would be Victoria's doing," Claudia said. She lifted up a card and flashed it at Vincent. "When I came to see her before, I gave her this - Detective Fanning's business card. You remember Fanning, don't you? The cop you shot outside the club Fever?"

Vincent rummaged through his memory. "Max was really pissed at me for that."

"Yeah, well, he was wearing Kevlar, lucky you. We left his card so she could call us to let us know when you were ready to come in. From what I can see, she didn't tell you about it. She probably knew you'd never do it, but wanted to keep the card for herself in case she needed it. Very much like a woman."

Vincent's head snapped to Victoria. "You didn't tell me you had a card from her?" he barked.

Victoria flinched. "Sorry," she muttered.

Vincent looked away, features taunt with rage.

"See, Vinnie?" Claudia said softly. "Liabilities. You would never have let her do something that stupid. But you can't be everywhere at once. You can't be inside her head making sure she doesn't fuck stuff up for you. And you certainly can't make sure she doesn't get herself pregnant."

Vincent whipped his head back around again, his rage even uglier full-frontal. His eyes darted from Claudia to Victoria, not sure which one he wanted to hate more at the moment.

"The way I see it," Claudia sighed, "we can do this two ways. Vincent, you can agree to come with me, back to the States, and turn yourself in. Your arrest would be a great way to wipe that big smudge off my slate that you made when you killed Shakespeare. Sure, you'd get arrested, but the Feds would probably want to use you to testify to a dozen murders or so to help them with some cases. They'd probably cut you a nice deal...if you lived to enjoy it. Or," she continued, "I can take Victoria here with me back to the States, and she can be arrested for illegally practicing medicine in the state of California, aiding and abetting - in her case, literal with that 'bed' thing, huh? - a criminal, and she can either expose you and testify against you in whatever case the Feds want to put together, affectively ruining your career, or she can spend the rest of her life rotting in jail. Not a good situation for a pregnant woman, really." Claudia shrugged. "I don't know, it's fucked up either way. I'd probably let me take her. I mean, you could always get plastic surgery, get your face changed, change your name, change everything, and go on with business as usual. Sure, they'll probably manage to successfully indict Felix, I'm sure Victoria will be no small help in that, and you're going to be in a lot of trouble with your employers for fucking up that job, but there are other fish in the sea. But if you've fucked up as bad as I think you have, I think you're going to go for option one."

"What makes you think you can keep me?" Vincent said. "What makes you think I won't escape, go to the States on my own, and execute every single person involved in this attempt to blackmail and terrorize me?"

Claudia shrugged. "True enough, you could. Might even work. But the second I hear you've escaped, and I _will_ hear it, I will find and execute this little lady here, and her baby." She nudged Victoria with her foot, against her backside. "If you think you can beat me to her, that's a risk you can take."

Vincent glared again. Claudia laughed at it.

"Oh, the irony is perfect, isn't it?" she chuckled. "You've spent the last six years of your career terrorizing everyone into doing whatever you wanted - Max, that cabbie in Oakland, who knows who before that - and now it's being done to you. Really, really sucks, doesn't it?"

Slowly, her arms shaking the entire way, Victoria lifted herself up to a sitting position. "Knock it off, Claudia."

The ice blue eyes snapped to her. "You _really_ aren't in any position, darling, to start with me," she said, the toe of her boot twitching ominously.

Victoria shook her head. She glared down at her bloodied feet. Now that the shock and the pain had mildly worn off, her head was starting to come back to her. "What if I volunteer to go with you."

Claudia nearly smiled. "That's very noble of you, Victoria."

"Something you wouldn't know about," Vincent muttered, looking away.

Claudia's eyes flicked to him and she shrugged, indifferent. "True enough. There isn't a single noble bone in my body. Or in yours, Vinnie dear. We're all about the mission, the kill. But you want to come back to the states with me, and save the daddy of your baby from making the hardest decision of his life. That's...admirable."

Victoria pulled herself up farther, careful not move too quickly. "Although with the way you fucked up my feet, I don't know how in the hell you're going to get me there, but yeah. That's what I'm going to do."

"No go," Vincent said, turning back to the situation. Wherever he'd been, it hadn't been there, at least, not mentally, for a good few minutes. "You're useless to them, Victoria. Your testimony would be thrown out as hearsay. And the hoops they'll have to jump through to use Max almost isn't worth the trouble. They need me, and she's not going to stop until they get me."

Claudia was silent, but her lips were curling into a rather superior smile.

"Think you guys can keep me alive long enough?" Vincent asked.

"No," Victoria said, more strongly. "You said either him or me, Claudia. I say me. Let's go."

Claudia held up a hand. "Vincent, are you asking, or are you requesting?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not. We could keep you alive long enough to testify. After that, I think you're skilled enough to keep your skin intact. It's a big world, there are lots of places to hide."

"It's a small world, Claudia, and you can't hide forever," Vincent returned.

"You always were so cynical. Your nihilism took all the light out of you."

"Claudia," Victoria interrupted, a hint of desperation in her voice now, "how can you do this? I mean, weren't you and Vincent...didn't you practically grow up together? Didn't you mean something to each other, once? Isn't there anything in your history together that would make you want to help him instead of seem him hung out to dry?"

Claudia looked at her as she spoke to Vincent. "What do _you _say, love? Is there anything?"

"Not a thing," Vincent muttered.

"You see, dear, _I _left _him_. Not because I fell out of love with him, but because I never loved him to begin with. It was just a matter of convenience that we were together, a stepping stone, if you would. And don't think it was any different for him. In fact, the Vincent I knew would never have gotten himself involved with you to begin with. Although I think I've made that clear enough times already. Right, Vinnie?"

"She's a murdering bitch, Victoria," Vincent said. "Don't try appealing to her humanity for a second. She hasn't got any."

"Sticks and stones. Neither does he, really. That's why he's having trouble saying he'll go. You notice you had to be the first to sacrifice yourself. The self-centered, cynical bastard in him that's been there his whole life, keeping him alive, is currently at full fledged war with the simpering wimp who thinks he's in love with you. And he can't get either one of them to give in."

"Then take _me_," Victoria pleaded, her chest tightening again. "Why don't you just take me, like you said?"

"Because Vincent was right, he's the real prize here. Sure, I could take you, but it's not nearly as good. They want him."

"Then what are you going to do with me?"

"Interesting question. Well. I could torture you for him to watch until he breaks. That might prove fun. Got a wire hangar? We could take care of your little problem."

Victoria's whole body recoiled with anger and horror. Her legs curled up and her knees locked together. No words vile enough could come out of her mouth.

"But I guess not," Claudia said, just as smoothly. Amused with herself. "That would probably only make Vincent happy, wouldn't it?"

Victoria edged herself away. Any farther and she was going to fall off the bed. With a sweep of her long, black-clad legs, Claudia rose from the bed and stretched.

"This is really starting to bore me," Claudia said. "Vincent, you'd better make up your mind soon, or I'm going to start doing some very ugly things, instead of just talking about them."

Vincent watched her, watched Victoria, his fists clenched together, knuckles starting to turn white. "All right, Claudia. But I have a few conditions, first."

Claudia turned to him, still smirking. "Oh, this must be grand."

"Untie her," Vincent said, pointing one finger at Victoria.

"Why?"

"Because she's harmless. Untie her."

Claudia shrugged. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a switchblade. She walked over to Victoria and cut the cord, which unwound itself from her wrists. Victoria rubbed her skin, getting the circulation going again in her hands.

"Max is probably ready to pee himself," Victoria said softly. "Can I get him out of his cage and take him into the bathroom?"

"What, he's going to use the toilet?" Claudia mocked.

"We put him in the bathtub," Victoria explained patiently. "He pees, we rinse it down-"

"Too much information," Claudia said. "No, no bathroom, but you can take the little runt out. Let him pee on the rug, I don't care. Just don't try anything stupid."

As Victoria bent down, there was a very dull humming sound. It came from Claudia's pocket. She reached inside, pulled out a small beeper, glanced at the phone. She went to the phone, picked up the receiver, and began to dial. She had her eyes on Vincent and Victoria the entire time.

When whoever answered, she said, "What do you want?"

Victoria opened the cage. Max practically flew into her arms. She reached farther inside, up into the lid. There was a slot there, for emergencies. A small pocket knife, kept razor sharp.

She had no idea in hell on how to get closer to Vincent.

Claudia was watching her the whole time. Her hand was hidden from view, but only for a few more seconds. She palmed the blade and slipped it into her pocket. As she pulled back, her bloody feet hurting too much to support her, she lost her grip on the dog and he went running across the room, to Vincent's feet.

"Get him!" Claudia snapped. "No, not you," she growled into the phone. "This is not the best time for this....no, I know there's a time table....by eight tomorrow, I know..."

Victoria crawled on her hands and knees toward where Max was sniffing Vincent's feet. She reached for the dog around his wiggling body, tried to pull him back. The slashes on her feet rubbed against the carpet, sending fresh shocks of pain up her legs.

"Get the fuck away from him!" Claudia barked, turning around. She aimed the gun at Victoria, who temporarily froze. The phone was still in Claudia's hand. "I'll call fucking back!" she hollered into the receiver, but whoever was on the other line would not be dismissed so easily.

Ignoring the pain, Victoria reached out with the blade, now open in her hand. She cut the plastic holding Vincent's ankle. The blade was so sharp it slipped through easily. As Claudia retorted something nasty to the other person on the phone, she cut the other ankle.

As Claudia turned around again, Victoria was at Vincent's wrist. Claudia saw it. She cocked the gun and fired.

* * *

A/N: you want to know the really awful part? I did have an extra half-paragraph describing what happened next, but I'm in just too evil of a mood to let you guys off the hook like that. Guess I've been writing Claudia for too long! Muh-ha-ha-hah! Anyway, too tired for responses tonight, and this was a very long chatper that wouldn't stop, so I'll just leave you with it. I'm sure I'll be getting plenty of angry reviews at the two cliffhangars in a row. But hey, I gotta keep you coming back, don't I? :) See you in a few days!


	10. Truth

_**Standard Disclaimer**_

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update--I'm really only a day late, but I know I left two cliffhangars so I totally understand the impatience, it's actually flattering.

_**Truth**_

Claudia was normally very good at her job. But she had a serious flaw. At the worst times, she could make the simplest mistake.

It was very much a matter of overconfidence. She was good at talking down to her prey, breaking them up inside, exposing their weaknesses, making them vulnerable. She would whittle them down to nearly nothing, and many times she conquered in this way.

But occasionally, she met someone who did not cave when made to face the awful truth of their own humanity. Instead, this person would respond in exactly the opposite way. And if she wasn't aware of this fact, she could be caught off guard.

Like turning away to talk into the phone. She should never have done that. Victoria wasn't the fastest cutter in the world, but the knife was sharp. Vincent's ankles were free and only one wrist remained bound by the time Claudia turned back, aimed and fired.

Vincent stood up. Even though the chair was heavy, adrenaline and years of discipline made him extraordinarily strong and fast. He pulled the chair up by the arm he was still bound to, and swung it around. The heavy chair flew between them. The bullet hit the wood, right at the intersection of where the arm was attached to the back of the chair, shattering the connection. His wrist slipped free as gravity took hold of the wood.

Claudia fired again. Vincent had caught the remains of the chair with his other hand, and hurled them at her. The bullet hit them, and a split-second later, the chair hit her, knocking the gun from her hand.

Vincent's reflexes were like electric shocks jumping from neuron to neuron. He leapt at her, his hands out, going to her wrists before she could get to a hold-out pistol stored in her jacket. But Claudia was not one to go down lightly.

Victoria watched as Vincent tackled Claudia, hurling her onto the bed. His fist made heavy contact with her jaw, but Claudia's fingers found Vincent's nose and eye and left three wide scratches, half-blinding him for a moment. Then her fist came right up and knocked his jaw up into his head, slamming his teeth together so hard Victoria was sure she heard a tooth crack.

Vincent brought his hands together and rabbit punched her right in the gut, just as his head was being forced in the other direction. Even with her lack of hair, Claudia was able to get herself together enough to use Vincent's weight against him. She heaved up her legs, effectively tossing him right over her head and off the bed into a heap on the other side.

Victoria saw the gun lying on the floor, almost under the bed. She had managed to forget the slashes in her legs for the minute it took to throw herself across the floor and pick it up. As Claudia spring-boarded upright, Victoria rolled onto her back, gun pointed up. The second Claudia's face came over the edge of the bed, searching for the gun, Victoria fired.

She was a lousy shot, but she got a good squeal out of Claudia for her effort. She didn't see, but the bullet had torn her cheek, sending chunks of flesh flying across the bedspread. While not a serious wound, it was extremely ugly, and rather painful. Claudia reeled backwards, just in time for Vincent to get to his feet again and get her from behind by the scruff of her hair. He hauled her off the back of the bed and chopped her across his leg, his knee hitting her hard in the base of her spine. She crumpled into a heap at his feet. Without pausing, Vincent reached over and seized the lamp, yanking the cord out of the socket and the base. He flipped Claudia over and hog-tied her arms behind her back at an painful angle, then went for her feet. He tied off the cord to the corner of the heavy bed so she wouldn't be able to go anywhere.

Victoria recognized the sound of Vincent's effort, and managed to pull herself up to the edge of the bed, gun still in hand. She watched as Vincent, looking nearly ugly in his rage, did his work. He seemed ready to stop after she was tied, but as he stared down at the woman, a cruel twist came to his features. He pulled her upright and let her fall back, pinning her shoulders to the ground under his knees. He searched Claudia's jacket and found the blade she had used to slice up Victoria's feet before.

"Victoria," he called, "you want to come see this?"

Victoria whimpered. She looked down at her feet. All she really wanted at the moment was to go into the bathroom and clean herself off, see how bad the damage really was. But the thought of crossing the distance between the bed and the bathroom at that moment was temporarily unbearable.

Plus, she really, really, really didn't like the tone in Vincent's voice.

"See what?" she rasped back.

"What you did to Claudia's face."

Victoria flinched. "How bad?"

"She'll never win another beauty contest, that's for sure."

Claudia made a strange gargling noise, and Victoria caught the words, "Fuck you."

"Still tough, even though the shoe is on the other foot?" Vincent said, the tone getting worse. "You think you can just come in here and fuck with me and then walk away? What were you thinking?"

Victoria heard the sound of the blade being flicked out.

"Don't," she said, her voice too weak to carry. But Vincent heard it.

"Why not?"

"Just...don't."

Max, who had been half-hiding under the bed during the scuffle, slowly stuck his tiny nose out and sniffed at Victoria's knee. Lifting up his head, he looked at his mistress and gave a tiny, worried squeak. Then he trotted around to her feet, sniffed at the blood, and gave her toe a single lick with his pink tongue. Victoria reached out for him and he came to her. She cuddled him into her arms and lay back on the floor, all the life drained out of her.

After a minute, she heard the blade flick back inside its sheath. Vincent stood up and came around the bed. Without a word to her, he reached down and picked her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and took her into the bathroom. He gently set her down on the toilet, reached for a washcloth and began to run the water.

From the look on his face, he was somewhere else. Somewhere deep inside that he didn't go too often. She didn't speak to him. If she'd had the energy, she wouldn't have asked what was going through his head. She merely sucked in her breath and Vincent wiped at the cuts, gently washing off the clotted blood, exposing the stripes for what they were.

Max rested his head in the crook of Victoria's neck, his cool nose and soft breath the only comfort she needed at the moment.

When Vincent was done, and the bleeding had seemed to stop, he wrapped her feet in a clean towel, got up and left the bathroom. When he returned, he bore some white wrapping gauze, a pair of socks, and a small white card.

He handed her the card. It took her a second of staring at it before she took it. Fanning's name was in clear black letters across the top.

Gently, Vincent removed the towel and began to wrap the gauze around her feet. Then he slid the socks on to keep the gauze in place. When he was done, he finally met her eyes.

"You want to call him, or should I?" he asked softly.

Without thinking, she reached out. Her hand went to the back of Vincent's head, her fingers threading through his thick, silver-gray hair. She pulled him closer, and her lips pressed gently to his forehead. Vincent closed his eyes and sighed under her caress. She turned her face so her cheek rested where her kiss had been placed, her arm going to rest across his shoulders, holding him close.

"I love you, Victoria," Vincent whispered.

She drew a deep, shuddering breath. Her eyes were still burning from her earlier tears, and they watered again in sweet relief. "I love you, too," she said, never meaning the words more than at that moment.

* * *

"He's not answering."

Vincent had been standing at the window, not looking at Claudia, who had gone uneasily quiet. Of course, the fact that she was bleeding into a widening pool on the carpet from her cheek didn't help her speaking skills. He turned and looked to Victoria, who was sitting by the phone in the remaining chair in the room.

"Well, maybe he's away."

She shook her head. "Vincent, I should probably tell you. I know Ray Fanning, a little, from a long time ago. One thing I learned in a fast time is that he's never away from his cel phone. It keeps ringing and ringing and then it goes to voice mail."

"Did you leave a message?"

She gave him a look.

Vincent looked down at Claudia. "Where is he?" he asked her, his voice restrained.

Claudia didn't answer.

"Something happened to him," Victoria said, almost to herself, from across the room. "When she came to see me before..." She rubbed her forehead, trying to access her memories through the haze of the last hour of her life. "She said he was waiting to bring us in. Which meant he had to be with her, somewhere. Probably listening in. If he's not answering, she probably did something to him."

"You sure we can trust him, after this?" Vincent asked, giving Victoria a look only she could decipher.

"He would never have gone along with this," Victoria said with surety. "She did something to him, I know it."

Vincent turned back to Claudia, stepped closer. "Claudia," he said.

She didn't answer, but he knew she could hear him.

"Claudia, what did you do with Fanning?"

No answer.

Vincent bent down. He was half out of sight of Victoria, but shot her an uneasy look. She understood, and looked away. He knelt down, pulling out the knife from before, flicking it open.

Victoria's face tightened.

* * *

Fanning was starting to get woozy. Lack of air in the trunk, that was it. It was a new car, no holes at all in the body, no rust, nothing. His eyes kept sliding shut, and his chest was getting tighter.

He heard the sound of feet in the gravel, close by. His eyes popped open, and he listened. No telling who it was. But he had nothing to lose. Summoning the last of his strength, he lifted up his feet and began to pound. It wasn't very hard, but it was something.

The footsteps got closer, then farther away. He heard a popping sound coming from in front of him, a crack of light, a gust of air. He lifted up his head but he's been cramped for so long and his arms and legs had nearly lost all their blood. Then a hand came around, pulling up the lid of the trunk, and bright sun blazed down into his face.

"Good morning," came a voice he had heard before, only once, asking him, "Having a good night?" He was amazed that he remembered it.

He couldn't see the face. The sun was too bright, blinding him, as he had been in the dark of the trunk for so long. Damn pupils weren't adjusting fast enough. It was painful, he was forced to close his eyes just to begin to recover.

He was being untied. His hands were nearly numb, and the man was shaking them, getting blood back into them again. Then his feet, only with less gusto. Finally, he was being pulled upright, head and shoulders above the rim. The hood was high enough, he didn't bump his skull.

"Come on, you've got to try to stand up," the man said, pulling his feet out and swinging them over the edge. "Come on."

Fanning pushed himself away from the trunk and onto his feet. He nearly fell, but the man caught him, walked him a few feet. Fanning began to hop and jump, kick his legs, and the needles came. They came so sharp and so fast it hurt and made his eyes water. He blinked, blinked constantly, shaking his arms, knowing how it must feel now to be a mummy awakened from a thousand year sleep. No wonder they were always so cranky.

"Victoria's upstairs," the man said, handing Fanning a keycard. "Room 217. Bridal suite."

Fanning was finally able to focus. He'd seen that face before, it run through his memory.

"Vincent," he whispered.

Blue-green eyes met his, indifferent on the surface, hiding something much more. "She's waiting," he said.

"Where are you going?" Fanning asked as Vincent let him go and started to walk away.

"Sorry, can't tell." Vincent walked toward the driver's door, pulled it open. He gave Fanning a look over his shoulder, similar to the one he'd given Max three months ago, after having helped him tell off his asshole-dispatcher. "Watch out for her, okay?"

Fanning was unarmed, so there was nothing he could do except watch as Vincent started up the car and left as quietly as he had come. Looking down at the keycard, Fanning murmured to himself, "Bridal suite. 217. Go figure." And he headed into the hotel.

When he got there, he slid the key into the door and it opened. Victoria was sitting on the foot of the bed, dressed casually, jeans and a T-shirt. They looked old, had the wrinkled look of being in a garment bag for too long. She looked up at him as if she'd expected him.

"Hello, Ray," she said. "It's been a long time."

Fanning nodded, walking to sit down beside her, then catching the acrid smell of blood. He stopped, went around her to the other side of the bed and saw Claudia, hog-tied and her face half-bloodied, some of her teeth showing through the tear in her cheek.

"Wow," he muttered.

"She's a real bitch," Victoria said without much passion. "Sliced up my feet pretty good. You may have to go request a wheelchair for me."

Fanning looked at her, blinking. His eyes were still sort of fucked from the heavy switches in light. Everything looked like it had a lime green outline. "What are we going to do with her?"

Victoria shrugged. "It's up to you, really. We could take her with us, back to the states, but I doubt it will do any good. If she's a government operative they'll deny even knowing her, or anything about any of this. She won't pay for what she did."

"What did she do?" Fanning whispered.

"I guess nothing that leaves visible scars," Victoria sighed. There was such a sorrow in her face, every line cut as if it had been made by a chisel in marble. "To the normal eye, anyway. My feet will heal. Her cheek will scar, I hope it makes her look fucking ugly. She hog-tied you - that has to be some kind of crime, since you're a cop."

"Not down here, I'm not."

"Well, then maybe we should call the Mexican authorities," Victoria suggested. "I mean, it would certainly make her disappear for a while. But then when she got out we'd have no idea where she was, if she was coming after us for revenge again." Victoria shrugged. Fanning looked down at her lap when she shifted her hands. He realized she was holding a gun. "Vincent wanted to kill her, but I wouldn't let him. I probably should have. Maybe I should just do it myself."

"No," Fanning said. "We can always hope the stereotype about Mexican prisons is true. I'm sure she won't get out anytime soon."

Victoria sighed, nodded. "Not much else we can do, huh? If we just leave her, people will thing she's the victim."

Fanning walked over to the phone. "Let me take care of it," he said.

And he did.

* * *

It was amazing, how good of a liar he could be when he had to be. It made him uncomfortable, but it was necessary. Claudia had fucked him, big time. It would do him no good to come clean.

"What do we do, now?" Fanning asked her, some time later, when the matter had been settled with the police and with the hotel, who had to clean up the mess. Victoria paid extra for the damages in spite of the fact that the hotel didn't want her to, blaming themselves that she had been accosted in such a way on her honeymoon. The fact that Fanning was now at her side instead of the silver-haired man was a fact they chose to ignore, for whatever reason. Victoria had a feeling that Vincent had paid them to not ask on his way out.

"Go back to the States," Victoria sighed, her fingers through the wide bars of Max's carrier, stroking the soft velvet of his ears. "We can buy a car."

"With what?"

"I have money."

"Vincent's money?"

Victoria looked around the lobby. There was a blessed circle of emptiness around them, everyone was leaving them utterly alone. "In a way," she murmured. "It's mine now. It's all I've got."

"You come back to the States, I have to arrest you," Fanning said.

She gave him a tired look. "You going to arrest a pregnant woman?"

He looked away, swearing under his breath in several languages.

"Besides, you don't always do what you have to," she reminded him.

"Yeah, you're right. Guess that would be a lousy way to repay your boyfriend for saving me from suffocation. Although if it wasn't for him I would never have been in that trunk in the first place."

"No, you were in that trunk because Claudia is a fucking psycho," Victoria said, her voice a total monotone.

"That, too," Fanning agreed. "So, you go back to the States. What do you do then? Start up another practice?"

"I've got my license back," she said. "Took a little bit, but Vincent knew people."

"I'll bet he did." Although Fanning couldn't help but admire the ability to get things done. "Where you going to go?"

"Not to L.A., that's for sure," Victoria sighed. "Maybe New Orleans. Or Chicago."

"World of difference."

"Probably New Orleans. I'm not a big fan of cold weather."

"Lots of corrupt cops in New Orleans."

"That'll make life a lot easier for me then," she said with a smirk that was more bitter than sweet.

Fanning looked at her. "I've missed you, you know," he said. "Talking to you."

She nodded, smiled at him. "It was always good, the things we'd talk about, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I've got your card. I'll give you a call when we set up. We can talk again."

"Sounds good."

"Are you mad at me, Ray?"

"No, not really. Disappointed, but...no, I'm not mad."

"We can start talking on our ride back home," she said, standing up, offering him her hand. "Come on, let's go buy a car."

* * *

A/N: Sorry, still no time for responses. "Once Upon A Time In Mexico" is on and I haven't seen it yet. I'm gonna run---you REVIEW! :)


	11. Sacrifice

_**Standard Disclaimer:**_

A/N: _Once Upon...In Mexico _was kind of a bust. I'll try to catch it again. Stupid movie channels that decide to put a whole bunch of good stuff on at the same time. _American Splendor _came on and I wound up playing channel hockey and nothing got done. Anyway, recent obsessions include finding out that "The Last Samurai" was really good, and old black-and-white Vincent Price movies. I saw "House On Haunted Hill," the new one? And Price starred in the old one. The new one creeped me out, but the old one is the only movie I've watched in ten years that actually made me scream. O/

_**Sacrifice**_

There wasn't anything to be said for the drive home. They did talk. Conversations that extended for hours. Victoria confided in Ray to a certain extent. She was not overly graphic. She didn't try to defend herself or Vincent. She simply explained. Ray asked questions, she answered. Neither one had much of a speaking voice by the time they reached Los Angeles, where Fanning insisted that they had to go, at least to close up a few matters.

The drive lasted a little more than a day. They did not stop. They took turns at the wheel, and occasionally one of them would take a short nap. Victoria found that she was not nearly as tired as she expected to be. Rest stops were necessary to allow Max to do his business.

"Are you going to bring me in?" Victoria asked. "Take my statement, all of that?" By now, they were on the 5, headed North. It was a matter of hours, maybe only a few.

"We'll see. I'm not sure where everything is going to be standing. Claudia was assigned to bring Vincent back, but she was the one with all the information."

"Are you going to get in trouble for her not coming with you?"

"I doubt it. My own boss doesn't know what I was doing. And if she's as deep as they acted, they may come ask me what happened, they may not. I'm not worried."

"You seem pretty confident."

"After the last twenty-four hours?" He gave her a look. "You think it's confidence? You seem as calm as a rock considering you could end up in jail by the end of this night."

Victoria just shook her head. Max, who was asleep on her lap, stirred slightly, in the middle of a dog-dream.

8888888888

She hadn't seen her apartment in almost three months. Amazingly, they hadn't evicted her yet. There was a serious notice on her door about late rent, and it was clear that someone had come in, searching for money. Victoria went to see the landlord, who lived two floors below her, and paid him in cash for three months rent, plus the month in advance. He didn't ask any questions.

Fanning didn't want to leave her alone. He asked if it was okay if he slept on her couch, considering the apartment had been empty for a good while and stank of must, and she would probably need some help getting it to a livable condition again. Victoria agreed, simply because she did not wish to be alone.

That night, she sat on her bed for the first time in what felt like much more than just three months, and looked around. Her room had been her place of memories - where she kept little items she'd collected over the years, her photo albums, her books, everything that connected her to her past.

She felt the life inside her womb. This was a stranger's room, now. The only thing she valued in all the world was inside her...well, except the dog. She could never part with Max.

She slept. She had bad dreams. She dreamed she was back at their house in Mexico, and that Claudia was in the house and was trying to kill Vincent. They ran from room to room but she was always behind her, and they couldn't stop to rest. Then, in the twisted realm of dream logic, she was in the car again, the car she and Fanning had driven back in, but it was Vincent at the wheel with her, telling her about the future, about how they were going to be free, he was going to stop working, they were going to have a family and it was all over, the nightmare was over.

She woke up with tear tracks on her cheeks.

8888888888

Fanning decided to get in touch with Richard, ask him what he thought he should do. Richard was a bit high strung at times, but he was a good cop, and sometimes a good friend. Hell, the man had stood at his beside while he recovered from cracked ribs and a blast to the head, which was healing up very nicely. Head wounds always bled a lot, and could be dangerous, but if they weren't, they seemed to heal up quickly for him.

"Why don't we get in touch with Pedrosa?" Richard suggested. "Maybe they could use Dr. Potter in their investigation. Considering all their other witnesses were shot to hell."

"I don't trust Pedrosa," Fanning muttered. "Guy's narrow-minded. No...I was thinking of Annie Farrell. If she hasn't gone into protective custody with all the crap about Felix."

"That might be hard. Although I don't think she went for that option. She's got a bodyguard while this thing is on, but her case is pretty weak. You know, now that I think about it, what can they really do with her? I mean, sure, maybe she knows about Vincent's activities, but that's second hand information. The court might throw it out."

"It might be worth a try...if she's even willing."

"If she's not, arrest her. What choice does she have?"

Fanning was silent for a long pause. Then he said, "You know, you're a real dick sometimes."

"Yeah, I know." To his surprise, Richard almost sounded contrite. "Well, either contact you need, I'll get both numbers for you. Get a few hours more sleep, you sound like you need it."

Fanning looked out the dirty window of the apartment. The sun was starting to rise. He felt tired, but couldn't imagine sleeping. "Yeah...call me back asap, okay?"

"Okay." The other man hung up. Fanning closed his eyes, rubbing them. His hair was a disheveled mess, he realized as his hands went through it. It was usually nicely combed back, slick and smooth. Maybe it was time to change his look.

He was aware, as he was just beginning to doze off from sheer exhaustion, that Victoria was moving around in her room. As he opened his eyes more widely, she entered, a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

"You know," she said, leaning against the door jamb, "I was looking through my stuff, thinking about what I want to take with me...and I don't want to take anything."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Fanning asked. "Maybe some pictures, or something. Of your parents? Of Allen?"

She blanched. "You know Allen is dead, don't you?"

Fanning let out a low, hissing breath. "No, I didn't," he said. "How?"

"Claudia." She said the word in a low voice, like a curse.

"You sure?"

"Very."

"Damn." He rubbed his hair again. "Look, is your shower working?"

"Dunno, haven't tried it."

"Mind if I do? I'm filthy."

"Sure, be my guest."

The pipes took a few minutes, but eventually he had hot water flowing from the showerhead. The curtain was slightly moldy, but useable. The towels and washcloth in the linen cabinet were starchy from being folded for too long, but they worked well enough. Her soap was dried up, but after some serious rubbing, he got some lather.

All in all, it was a decent shower.

When he came out, towel wrapped around his waist, she was sitting on the couch, just staring around the room. Max was nosing through various objects, exploring this new territory with interest.

"You been sitting there the whole time?"

"There was a call on your cel phone," she said. "I've been waiting for you to come out to find out who it was."

He walked over to his phone, which he had dropped on the table with the car keys, and picked it up. The number was unknown but there was a message. When he heard it, he nearly dropped the phone.

"Victoria, I'm afraid your shower is going to have to wait," he said. "We have to go, right now."

8888888888

"Max, are you okay?"

Max looked up. For the last two months, Annie Farrell had been his best friend. Sure, before that night, when he'd first met her, he'd immediately seen her as something more. But there were obviously more important things in the world that making a move on a beautiful, smart woman. He could wait.

He needed to wait.

Annie stood in his apartment. She looked the same, striped suit, not too flashy, a nice muted shade of slate gray. It suited her. Pale pink shirt underneath, soft and feminine. She even wore the charm he'd bought for her a few weeks back, a little golden car that reminded him of a taxi cab, and she'd thought it was funny.

But she was out of place here, dressed like that. Dressed for work.

"I came to tell you in person because I knew this would mess you up pretty good," she admitted. "Come on, Max, you with me?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, nodding his head. He shook himself inside. "Yeah," he said again. "I'm ready to go."

"You sure? You don't need a moment to sit down?"

"I don't need to sit down," he said dryly. "I sit all day. These guys -"he gestured to the other men in the room, silent, like shadows, invisible and yet painfully present, "they don't let me do a damn thing."

Annie nodded, turning to a few of the shadows. "Come on, we need to go now."

He waited patiently, following her and the shadow men down to the waiting car. There had been no obvious attempts on his life, but he knew that he was in serious, big-time trouble for having to take the place of the men Vincent had killed. He'd met Felix, talked to him. It was only a matter of chance that he hadn't been shot at yet. Either that, or he was being protected better than he thought. Maybe there was something to all those movies that showed witnesses surviving after all.

Truth be told, he didn't want to do this. He had nightmares on a regular basis. He quit his job, knowing he would never be able to give another man a ride in a taxi again. He gave up his Island Limo dream, at least starting it himself, knowing his chauffeur days were over.

But, as Max had learned on that fateful night, shit happens. You have to roll with it. He would do what needed to be done. And now, he needed to confront Vincent.

Not really confront, he thought to himself as the car took him to the police station, where the line-up would happen. He was going to identify. He was going to look through a two-way mirror and identify Vincent from a line-up of men.

Annie was a rock. She slipped her hand into his as they got into the elevator, squeezing his hand. She had strong hands. Dry hands. She was calm, always calm. She'd even been relatively calm when Vincent had been standing over her, aiming at her chest with a security guard's gun. Sure, she'd looked away, unable to see the final shot coming. But she was never hysterical. Except when she cried before a trial. But he hadn't seen that yet.

"Thank you for coming, Max," said a man he recognized, a large man with a tuft of gray hair on his chin and white-gray hair on his head. A woman, slender and Latino, stood beside him, face like an iron mask. "We know this hasn't been an easy time for you-"

"Come on, let's just do this," Max said. His voice was low. His voice was always low, now. He didn't even raise it to his mother. He never told his mother what happened, knowing she would freak the holy hell out to learn that she'd been visited by a contract killer one night, with her son as his hostage. He'd never hear the end, and he didn't even want the beginning.

The man, Pedrosa, and his partner, Zee, just nodded, and stepped aside. Max went into the room. Annie temporarily let go of his hand, having to stay outside the room herself for just a moment. When Max was done, she would be able to go inside and identify Vincent herself.

Max went into the darkened room. Pedrosa followed, calling into a microphone for the men to enter the room. A door opened and there was a slight procession.

He recognized him immediately. The man looked utterly out of place in a shirt that looked like it belonged on a tourist in Hawaii and a pair of shorts. But the hair was the same shade of gunmetal gray, the scruff still in place, the eyes still the same. Max felt his skin crawl as Vincent turned and looked at the mirror - looked right through it, into him.

"Number 4," he said. "Number 4 is Vincent."

"Thank you, Max," Zee said, "but we need to be sure, with a voice identification."

Pedrosa pressed the intercom. "Number 4, step forward and read the card."

Vincent stepped forward. He had a car in his hand. "Guy gets on the MTA, dies. You think anybody will notice?"

Max wanted to throw up. "Yeah, that's him," he said, his voice strained. "It's him." He turned and walked out of the room, to hell with anything else.

Annie waited for him, her look compassionate. She handed him a cup of coffee which he took before letting her go past him into the room. She took a few more minutes, but when she came out, she muttered to him, "Number 4, right?"

"Yeah," Max said, his throat feeling better under the hot liquid.

Then, he saw a ghost.

Detective Fanning entered the room, a woman behind him. She was wearing and old T-shirt and jeans, her hair was black-brown and limp from a lack of washing. She was also mildly pregnant - his sister had had the same glow about her a few months after her wedding. It was unmistakable.

Then Max blinked. Fanning? Here?

Ray Fanning approached him with a big smile. He reached out to shake Max's limp hand, paralyzed with shock. "Hey, Max, how are you?"

"Me?" Max stuttered. "You look really good for a guy shot in the chest and head!"

"Eh, Kevlar," Ray said nonchalantly. He looked past Max into the dark room. "Pedrosa in there?"

"Yeah," Annie said. From the expression on her face, she didn't seem to think much of Pedrosa. "You need to send in your witness."

Fanning turned to the brunette, walked her to the door. She seemed reluctant to go. Her face was puffy, heavily lined, tired.

"Do I have to?" he heard her mutter to the cop.

"Yeah, you do."

"But I don't want to." Very simple and matter of fact, not petulant, like a child. Max found himself wondering who she was, what connection she had to all of this. She certainly didn't look familiar to him.

"I'm sorry, Victoria, but it's necessary." Although Fanning seemed to be putting up a solid front. He gave her a mild shove. "Come on, in and out and it'll be over."

The woman, Victoria, drew a breath and walked into the room. Fanning turned back to him. "Sorry," he said, "I would have called you, I'm sure none of these assholes bothered to tell you that I was alive."

"No," Max said, glancing into the dark room. He heard the faint echo of a sob. "I'm sorry, but who is she?"

"That? That's Dr. Victoria Potter. Vincent's hostage of the last three months." There was an edge to his voice that went with the front. Not the truth. Annie's face turned into stone.

"According to his story, anyway," she muttered.

"Hostage?" Max echoed. "For three months?"

No one said anything. Victoria came out of the room, her cheeks flaming, eyes brimming. She walked over to where they stood, gave them all a horrible look as if she blamed every bad thing in the world on them, and then turned right to Max.

"You know why he didn't shoot you?" she said, her voice low.

Max blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Why Vincent didn't shoot you," she said, her voice patient where her expression was not. "He didn't kill you that night, he could have, he should have."

"He ran out of bullets," Max said, numb.

"He let you go because he liked you." She said it very plainly, just like she had said that she didn't want to go into that dark room. She glanced at Annie. "And you were in love with her. He saw something that mattered." She looked back at Max. "If he _had_ killed you, none of this would be happening. So I hope you appreciate the sacrifice."

Max swallowed, no words able to get past the confused lump in his throat. Who in the hell was this woman?

But she didn't give him time. She turned, glared at Fanning, and then left, charging across the wide office into the waiting room through the glass window, and planting herself in a seat, not giving them a single glance more.

8888888888

"Max, why are you doing this?" Annie asked him as they stood outside the closed door.

"Because," was all Max could reply. It didn't make sense to him, either, but in the hour he'd gone back and tried to calm down, he found that he couldn't. One single thought pressed in his mind. He had to talk to Vincent.

The why was unclear. It was only because. Because he had questions. Because he wanted closure. _Because, because, because, because, because_....stupid Wizard of Oz song.

Fanning was there. He hadn't left the situation since Victoria had gone, partly because she was in selective custody at the moment, and partly because he wanted to make sure this situation settled correctly.

The door opened and a man came out. Tall, widely built, the sort of lawyer that reminded others of Perry Mason, in his youth. Pedrosa came out after him, reminding others of Perry Mason when he was not in his youth, only a bit more slender.

"Ms. Farrell," the Attorney General said, giving her a respectful nod of his head, "if your client wishes to speak to him, I'll permit it. Only because of this situation, and only because it's you. Although I have to admit, it's pretty foolish."

Annie did not agree with him, but there was no denial in her expression. "Thank you Mr. Lambert. I do assure you that my client has his reasons."

Lambert shot Max a glance, then a small shrug. "Go for it, then," he said, and strode away. "Annie, I need you in my office first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," she said, but she was already half-way through the door.

It was creepy, Max decided as he entered the small room. The last time he'd seen Vincent, it had also been in a white-washed place, but it had been much closer and less confined at the same time. Vincent sat at the head of the small table, his hands handcuffed together, his eyes clear and meeting his as Max entered.

"Hey Max," he said, the same tone he'd always used, except now Max recognized it as being very clear, very calm. Before he'd been wheezing through a bullet hole against his lung. He seemed perfectly whole, except for the piece of his ear that was missing.

"Vincent," Max said, sitting down. Vincent's eyes went to Annie.

"Ms. Prosecutor."

Annie did not answer. She simply gave him her total bitch look.

"I saw your lady friend," Max said, his voice low. "They say she was your hostage. Is that true?"

Vincent raised his eyebrows. "Why, Max, you sound like you actually give a shit about what I've been up to since you left me for dead. Not that I really care about that, it was just business, and I don't blame you."

"Her name is Victoria," Max went on, as if trying to trigger his memory.

"I know what her name is." The calm was gone, replaced by a distinct edge. Vincent looked away, toward the two-way mirror. "She still here?"

Max shook his head. "No, they took her away. Somewhere you won't find her."

Vincent smirked. "Good. She deserves it."

Max scowled. "She said something to me before she left. She said you let me go. Did you let me go?"

Vincent shrugged. "Maybe. I had a bullet in my chest at the time. I didn't really have the energy to keep arguing with you, so I let you win. You complaining?"

Max shook his head. "I just don't know why. Like I don't know why you didn't kill me after I crashed the car. Or why you didn't kill me a dozen times earlier that night. And don't give me that bullshit about me being good."

Vincent just looked at him from across that table. "Max, are you still driving a cab?"

"I'm not doing anything right now because of all this shit you got me into."

"After, then," Vincent continued, nonplussed. "You going to go back to it?"

"No."

"Going into your limo company, then?"

"No, ain't doing that either."

Vincent glanced up at Annie. "Well, I guess that's two things you have to thank me for. Two out of three isn't bad." He sighed, leaned back in the chair. His hands fell onto his lap. "Why I let you go," he murmured, as if to himself. "I don't know. I just did."

"Your friend Victoria seems to think it was for a more noble reason," Max said.

Vincent gave that nervous half-shrug. "Does it matter? You're alive, you're free-"

"I'm no more free than you," Max spat. Annie, who had been quietly leaning against the wall, gave a slight start. my life."

Slowly, Vincent smiled. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Max," he said, "my life's been ruined, too."

"Victoria wasn't your hostage, was she?" Max asked after a long pause. "I mean...why the hell are you here? You never had to come here. Why did you turn yourself in? Was it because of her?"

Vincent seemed mildly flustered, but he was holding it together. "What do you want, Max, revenge? Pick me apart again like you did before? Call me institutionalized, ask me if anybody is home? I used to think there wasn't, and that was fine with me. But thanks a fucking lot, now there is."

Max nodded, slowly, cast a glance at Annie. "I don't know why I even fucking care," he muttered. "That woman wasn't your hostage. She was something else."

"You can imagine a guy like me having something else with a woman like that?" Vincent said, but he was looking away, toward the mirror.

"Go ahead, lie," Max muttered. "I'd expect it from someone as low as you."

Vincent's eyes darted back to him, sharp and diamond bright. Then he blinked and the deadly rage was gone. He turned paler ones to Annie.

"Ms. Farrell?"

"Yes?" Annie said, not moving from where she stood.

"You know as well as I do that whatever Victoria says, her testimony in the trial against Felix is worthless, right?"

An uncomfortable pause. "Not completely, Vincent, but if we have you, we don't need to worry about that."

Vincent nodded. "I guess not. But are you going to hang her out to dry?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she needs to be placed in Witness Protection," Vincent said. "Just to be safe."

Annie seemed surprised. She and Max exchanged looks, but Max appeared to see through the entire situation.

"I'll testify only if you give your word she'll be placed in Witness Protection," Vincent said.

"If you don't testify," Annie countered, "you'll die of a lethal injection after I get done hanging _you_ out to dry."

"True enough. But then you'll have to rely on her testimony and put her into witness protection anyway. So I figured you could save the taxpayers a few dollars and get a better witness in the deal. What do you think?"

Annie pushed away from the wall. "I'll talk to the Attorney General about it."

"When will I know?"

"Within twenty-four hours. Max, anything else?" she said, turning to him.

"No," Max said, standing up. "I think I've got all my questions answered."

Vincent raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Enjoy your life, Max. And don't fuck it up this time."

* * *

Don't worry...there are still a few more chapters coming. :) Just a few quick notes:

SweetArwen: You know what really sucks? They killed off Salma Hayek's character, didn't they? That so totally turned me off so quick. But anyway, this isn't a thing about Once Upon A Time, it's about Solace. ANyway, yes, those three little words. Like how I did that? I knew he had to say it, once, and it had to really mean something big. BIG. So as for where he went...now you know. Please don't kill me. :)

PAR: You should know better than to do that! SIGH What am I going to do with you?

Byrony Cel: You know you reviewed chapter 10 twice? Or was that you? Is someone masquerading as you? Or were you trying to get me off my butt and get chapter 11 loaded? Because with 5 reviews I decided to do it tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow and a few more reviews. Maybe. :)

LunaGrrBack023: You know, I don't know about the N'Orleans thing. I mean, the cops there are really corrupt, and Chicago is no good because of the mob. Plus I really only like to write about places where I've been, so I can see first-hand what they feel like. I like writing about the feel of cities. Chicago is my favorite place but I just can't have Victoria going there. So we'll see what I decided in the next chapter. Sorry 'bout that. :)

Okay, see you guys in 48 (hours)!


	12. Freedom

_**Standard Disclaimer**_

_**Freedom**_

They had put her up in some hotel, not a complete shithole, but certainly nothing of real comfort. Not that Victoria really cared. She was too damn depressed to care, and made even moreso by the fact that she couldn't be alone.

Unless she locked herself in the bathroom, and that idea was not appealing.

There were three men there, each one in a suit, all seeming to mind their business. One close to the window, one close to the door, the third a floater, manning the phone, mostly, which, if it ever rang, was always for one of them.

They were as good as invisible, for all the comfort their presence afforded. In the small room, it was a tight fit. She stuck to the bed, but that just didn't seem...proper. Finally, as soon as the sun had set, she told them all she was going to bed, and turned off as many lights in the room as she could reach. A few moments later, they were turned on again for various reasons - magazines, cel-phones, whatever.

There was a knock at the door. Something to do with the last phone call, she was sure, as the reply had been, "Sure, go ahead." The floater answered it with the door-man at an angle of his shoulder, just in case.

The woman from the station came in. Small in stature, slender, long straight black hair, medium-tone African American. Victoria sat up in the bed, showing her impatience.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" the woman asked as she crossed to the foot of the bed.

"No, it's only nine, who's asleep now?" Victoria shot a glare around the room. "I just didn't have anything else to do."

The woman gave her a half-grin. "Don't worry, you'll be out of here, soon. Vincent is going to testify. We don't need to hold you."

Victoria looked up at her. "I'm sorry, who are you again?"

"Annie Farrell. I'm working the Felix case, district prosecutor." Annie would have extended a hand if a bed hadn't been between them. She glanced around. "Can we talk over here?" She jerked her head toward the two chairs and the table between them. Shooting a good glare at the floater who had just taken a seat, she got him to move, and motioned for Victoria to take the other. Throwing back the comforter and sliding out, having to use sweatpants for pajamas, as it was the only thing the tiny little store downstairs had, Victoria joined her, albeit reluctantly.

"Victoria Potter...you used to be a doctor, once upon a time."

Not a good way to start the conversation. Instantly the hackles on the back of Victoria's neck rose. "Yeah, what about it?"

"I know how you lost your license. What happened was a travesty, and I'm going to do what I can to correct it."

Victoria gave her a distinctive look. "And why would you do that for me?"

Annie gave a half-shrug. "I hate to see a good doctor go to waste. My sense of justice. Take your pick."

"Well, considering-"And then she stopped. What was she going to say? "Considering the father of my baby tried to murder you, I wouldn't be offended if you didn't try to help me." No, that was a mistake. So far she'd managed to hide her pregnancy and didn't want to take the chance of it backfiring in her face. And she sure as hell couldn't use the word "boyfriend" when it came to Vincent. He was certainly not that.

"Considering?" Annie asked, waiting.

"Nothing. I just think you have the wrong idea about Vincent and me. He told me I was his hostage...I wasn't."

"I know."

Victoria blinked. "That obvious?"

"He wants you put into Witness Protection as part of his deal for testifying against Felix," Annie said. "He's concerned about your safety. Kidnappers don't do that."

Victoria considered these words for a long moment, letting herself soak them up. When it came to Vincent, her memory pretty much ended in the bathroom, when he'd told her he loved her. It was like he'd died after that moment...there simply wasn't anywhere else to go that could ever be as good, as important, as special.

"Why do I need Witness Protection?" she asked, finally.

"Well, Felix is very well connected. I mean, he managed to get information on all the other witnesses before we went to trial, and no doubt he'll do it again. But you, on the other hand, are a pressure point - if Felix wants to get to Vincent, he might try using you."

"Wonderful," Victoria muttered.

Annie smirked. Obviously she wasn't saying what she was thinking. "So we want you to disappear. We'll take care of everything. Until your medical license comes back, how about Medical Technology? They pull down a decent salary."

"Where?" Victoria asked. "I mean, do I get a choice?"

"Not really. We can put you in Indianapolis, Indiana. There's a big hospital there, St. Vincent's," Annie struggled not to smile at the irony, "and we can get you in without a problem. The rest is up to you."

"Wait a minute," Victoria said, leaning forward. "That's it? I just...vanish? I don't have to do anything? I don't get it...what's the catch?"

"Vincent's paying the catch," Annie said, an edge to her voice. "He's lucky he's only doing that."

Victoria shook her head. She wanted to ask why, but she knew why. Vincent loved her. He'd told her he loved her. He was doing this to protect her. He was sacrificing himself for her freedom.

The thought squeezed her throat so hard her eyes watered. She put a trembling hand up to her mouth, pressing her lips against the back.

"You okay, Victoria?" Annie asked in a soft voice.

"Why do you care?" Victoria whispered.

Annie gave a very gentle shrug. "I don't know. I guess you and I have something in common. We both stumbled into very unconventional relationships and we're just trying to survive through them. Or in them." She looked away, uncomfortable.

Victoria felt like she was going to explode. The kind of eruption that comes from battery acid eating through its case. She grasped the chest of her shirt, as if somehow that might make the terrible, horrible ache that suddenly gripped her less painful. She wished, so much, that Vincent was there...just for a moment. She wished she could speak to him once more.

But no...that would undo everything. He hadn't told her what he was planning because he knew she'd never go for it. He knew she was going to leave him, so he let her, and then did the rest on his own. She hadn't known he had it in him. It just didn't seem like the kind of thing Vincent would do. The depth of the nobility, the selflessness...she gasped a dry, heaving sob, her lungs rattling painfully.

She'd wanted to be angry at him for letting her leave him. She'd wanted, somewhere inside, for him to fight for her, for him to give in about the baby, to do anything she wanted as long as she didn't leave him. But no, Vincent loved her even more than that.

"Victoria?" Annie whispered.

Pressing her fingers against the corners of her eyes, she looked to Annie. "When...when do I leave?"

8888888888

Vincent sat in his cell, legs propped up, back resting against the uncomfortable, straight stone walls. At least, they felt like stone. Probably concrete, the way people could carve into them so easily. He'd already amused himself, reading all the sayings, and then making up little stories for them in his head.

It wasn't a free ride that he was getting. The Attorney General was not happy about giving a man who had murdered seven people, possibly more, in cold blood, a free walk. Especially a man who seemed to be quite able to do it again.

Vincent really didn't intend that. If he lived past this whole thing - which he didn't really expect, as there were many very adept contract killers out there who could probably get to him, even as guarded as he was - he wasn't going to go back to killing. The most obvious reason being, his reputation was completely ruined. He'd have to change his face and his name if he ever wanted to work again, and then he'd have to start at the bottom, as he would lose any credibility he'd had previously. That didn't appeal to him.

Plus, he'd just lost his taste for it.

Maybe it had something to do with Victoria being pregnant.

He tried to tell himself that was a ridiculous thought. Many times he succeeded, but it always crept back to him, in an unguarded moment, few as they were.

It beat the other thoughts that paraded through his head. It beat the incessant voice asking him, again and again, how in the hell he'd ever allowed this to go this far.

The night he'd met Victoria, he didn't understand how he could be so impressed by someone he'd met once. People didn't stay with him long, but she lingered. He found himself looking forward to meeting her again. That night on the train when he'd been shot by Max, the renegade cabbie, his only thought had been, _Now I get to go see Victoria._

How incredibly stupid.

It started out so simple. He needed fixing. The bullet was gone, he was healing, he could have done the rest on his own. But no, stupid him, he'd stuck around, enjoying her company, relishing his excuse to be in her presence. He should have left. He should have walked out the next morning, gotten a new flight and disappeared back into the cracks from whence he came. It was dark and lonely there, but safe. He knew it, he understood it. He could navigate that life with his eyes closed. It was everything to him.

Stupid, stupid bullet hole. Sometimes he still scratched at the scar. It ticked vaguely, mostly when he thought about Victoria. As if she'd put the wound there, making herself a permanent part of him.

If he'd left when he should have, they would have killed her, those men who were looking for Marcus Shakespeare. Or Claudia would have caught up with her and killed her, or maybe not, maybe she would have been safe, been paid a lot of money by Shakespeare to disappear, keep his secrets.

No, those men definitely would have killed her, he decided. And the thought of her being dead...it was too painful to even entertain for more than a second. He pushed it away.

Victoria was smart. Smart enough to know, at first, not to get involved with him. But then her ex-husband had gotten killed and she fell apart, and he couldn't bear to see her suffer like that. So he'd comforted her.

That was probably the big mistake. It had all fallen apart from there. He tried to tell himself, for the longest time, that he'd simply taken advantage of a situation, that he'd let his own weakness and hers get the best of them. Then he tried to convince himself that she was using him. But no one ever used him, not even her. Then, when it was all over, and he was going to leave, to finally leave and get on with his life, satisfied that she was going to be safe and everything could return to normal, he'd open his big mouth, which he never, ever, as a rule, did, and told her the truth.

One big mistake could be compensated for. Two was the point of no return.

He put the walls up high at first, thinking she would get the message, that she would come to her senses and realize she was so in the wrong place, with the wrong man. He didn't give a single inch for her, but amazingly enough, she bent. She accepted. She rolled. And slowly, like an iceberg, he'd begun to move. So subconsciously that sometimes even he didn't see it. Only at night, when he was lying awake, as he always did, with her sleeping warm and soft beside him, did he see how she was changing him.

Three mistakes was a Greek tragedy. Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Rwanda. His world was exploding around him and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.

She was pregnant.

Vincent tried to break off his thoughts, temporarily allowing himself to be distracted by the television that the guard was watching. Some old Vincent Price movie...he watched for a few minutes, seeing if he could identify it. The bright color of red was sort of a giveaway, it was an Edgar Allen Poe flick. Price was always so fond of Poe. This one was _The Mask of the Red Death_. Price's prince was in the middle of attempting to educate a young woman in the ways of the world - they'd never outwardly say the word "sex" in these movies, but they dripped of it, the perversion like a smell in the air. He remembered this one. The girl would break down, slowly, little by little, eaten up by despair, by the corruption around her, and give in, only to have Price, at the very last minute, send her away, to go meet with her good and noble peasant boyfriend and run away from the town, which was completely inflected with a plague that was killing everyone. He would be on the verge of consuming her innocence, and then let go, finding some spark of goodness in himself that knew love, that knew how to sacrifice.

Vincent looked away. He didn't know what made people like their names. He knew he was a Vincent, but Price was also very much a Vincent, and he had never been able to see anything alike between them before. Unless, of course, he was that prince, who at the last moment had let the innocent maiden run from his evil.

He had to smile. Victoria was many things, but innocent wasn't one of them. Not anymore. He'd been too late with her, she'd already been tainted by the cruelties of the world. Yet she still managed to keep her nobility.

She wanted that baby. He could see it in her eyes, how happy she was, way deep down, that she was going to give birth, she was going to be a mother, and that it was of his child.

He couldn't take that away from her. So he let her go, knowing it was the only way out.

Dammit, he _was_ that evil prince. Well, at this moment. He'd drift off for about an hour, wake up refreshed, and get on some other line of thought. He'd always be so fond of mocking people who played it so safe, doing everything the same, ten years, twenty, thirty, then life is over. He had always been fond of realizing that he never knew where he'd be in even ten minutes from that moment. And maybe it was because for him, of all God's creatures, it was actually true.

At least he could live with knowing that he practiced what he preached. There was something redeeming, almost comforting, in that.

8888888888

It would take a lot more than time to fix things.

Within a week, Victoria was handed a whole new life. She was given a new name - Sarah Lancing. She didn't care too much for it. She didn't think she looked like a Sarah. But it was all right, as she wasn't planning on responding much to the name, anyway.

Within a month, she was in Indianapolis, getting ready to start her new job. Medical Technologist. The person who handles all the testing, takes the blood, carries the cups of urine. It wasn't a glamorous job, but it was something. She missed the idea of working with patients, she missed being able to talk to the people whose lives passed through her hands, but it was enough. She wasn't feeling particularly social.

She found a doctor within six weeks of her agreement with Annie. The baby was a good three and a half months along - fourteen weeks, to be exact. She had twenty-six to go. And a boy.

A boy. She wondered what she would name him. There just weren't enough good boy names in the world. Sure, there were the standard, romantic ones - Michael, Nicholas, Gabriel...She considered Louis, briefly, but didn't like how Louis Lancing sounded.

It did flutter through her mind to name the baby Vincent. But she couldn't. Something wouldn't allow it.

Finally, the name that stuck with her was Charles. Charles Lancing. She'd call him Charlie, maybe his friends would call him Chuck. It personally didn't appeal to her, that last nick name, but boys were funny. And Charles Lancing did have such a nice ring. A sophisticated name for a boy to grow into and be a man.

But not like his father.

There was a terrible mixture of anticipation and dread as she moved through her pregnancy. Being alone caused difficulties to arise. What would she do after maternity leave? The thought of a daycare raising her child appalled her. She didn't want to part from the only thing in her life that she loved.

Then came the good moments - the baby's first kick, the weird cravings, the gallons of milk and apple juice that filled the fridge, picking out baby clothes...

Money would never be a problem, though - she never told anyone about the money Vincent had left her. She kept it hidden, sifting it through her monthly pay to take care of any loose ends. It would be a while, but soon, she would get at least half of it into some kind of trust fund for Charles, so that when he grew up, he could go to any college he wanted, start a good life, want for nothing. The other half she would use to raise him, keep him happy, healthy, and most of all, wise.

There were nights she couldn't sleep, she missed Vincent so badly. It was amazing to think that someone who had passed through her life in only a matter of months had made such a dent that his absence was like a wound. To comfort herself, she would sometimes bring her CD player to bed and play the only Miles Davis CD she could find. Sometimes she'd put the headphones on herself. Sometimes she would put them on her belly for the baby. Charles would kick lightly, stimulated by the sounds. It helped sometimes. Sometimes, though, it only made her hurt worse, and she had to push it all away, and lie on her side, her arms wrapped around her swelling belly, concentrating on the only good thing in the world - her son.

Watching the news and reading the newspapers only made her depression worse. His testimony was headlines for weeks on end. Sixty minutes did a huge piece on him. Barbara Walters wanted to interview him. It churned her stomach...they just didn't know. He was a dead man walking.

Every time she saw his face, it was painful. He was growing thinner, not eating right. He tried to hide it, set his face in stone, but she could tell that he was miserable and bored. She could only imagine where he was staying - he was far too dangerous to go to a regular safe house, they had to keep him locked up, most likely in a wide, comfortable cage, but a cage nonetheless. She found herself wondering if they were letting him listen to his jazz. He'd had such a collection - she doubted anyone could run out and buy half of those CD's.

The doctor chastised her on a continuous basis - make sure she slept enough, ate enough. Don't let yourself wallow, get out and walk around. She did all these things, but felt like a robot obeying a program. She didn't gain a lot of weight. The doctor told her to eat more, gave her a special diet. She never, in her whole life, would have thought she'd be chastised for being too thin.

She had casual friends through the hospital, caring people who wanted to make sure she had enough support, being a single mom. She told everyone she was a widow. Her husband had died only a few weeks before she'd come to Indianapolis. She was grieving and gestating a new life - not an easy combination. It won her a lot of sympathy that more than made up for the lack of real friendship ties. The doctor chastised her again, warning her that grieving and being pregnant were not a winning combination - she would have to choose.

She always chose Charles, above everything. In the end, she quit her job at the hospital, claiming she'd been saving most of her salary. She opened the trust fund for Charles, kept the rest of the money in a safe in her apartment and lived quietly. She had plenty to keep herself afloat for the next few years. And Annie Farrell seemed to be as good as her word. Within three months of her moving to Indianapolis, her medical license was reissued to her under the name of Sarah Lancing.

She never told anyone at the hospital, not even after Charles was born. He came, safe and whole, all ten fingers and toes, a thick full head of black hair, green eyes, her nose and mouth. Charles was her life now. Everything else was secondary.

He was a quiet baby, mostly. He didn't know how to sleep. She couldn't help but wonder if that was genetic. He would get tired and fuss and cry, but didn't know how to go to sleep. She had to rock him, continuously, until he just...passed...out. One time she had him perched on her thigh, which continuously moved up and down, the classic "shakey-leg syndrome." He suddenly slumped forward, unconscious. He was simply asleep. She wondered if he would ever sleep on his own.

Being a single mother wasn't easy, but for the first time since being with Vincent, she was happy. And there wasn't any guilt mingled with her joy over Charles. She was a mother. It was her right to take joy in her son.

Especially when it was the only joy to be had.

8888888888

A/N: No, this isn't the end of the story. But I've got a dilemma. I'm not sure if I have enough story to do a trilogy, but there is a big time gap that starts right here. So I was thinking of doing a third story, but as I said, I don't have enough plot. Unless I really want to torture everyone by keeping Vincent and Victoria apart for a very long time. I had an idea, but it was really, really angsty, and I don't know if all of you could take that, or if I could even handle writing it. So give me a few days, keep reviewing, and I'll see what I come up with. Share any opinions you might have in the meantime. :)

LunaGrrrBack023: To answer your question, Claudia is currently rotting in a Mexican prison with half her face blown off. As to what's next for her? I really don't know, it just seems too cliche for her come back a third time. But who knows? Heh heh heh...

firegoddess164: Oh, yes, you are a romantic. :) But that's okay. And I hope you're satisfied with the name and gender of the baby.

Warm Mittens and SweetTreats: You know, I really wondered what the hell had happened to you two! But knowing you're together makes me shudder. THe crazy factor has got to be overwhelming. LOL. Now, you think you can just come back and give me one big long review and it's all better? There are ten other chapters to review, kiddies. Get to work! LOL. As to whether the story will be a happy ending? Well, you'll just have to breathe, make SweetTreats take her medication, and wait and see. And as for what Vincent did to Claudia? It was too graphic for me to describe. But he got her to talk and tell them where Ray was. Don't ask how.

SweetArwen: Hope that song finally left your head! I hate that song but it totally fit. And I hate it when songs get stuck in your head. Don't worry, no lethal injection for Vincent, but as for what the future holds...I'm still trying to figure it out.

Hopefully I'll post again this weekend. Until then, take care!


	13. Time

_**Standard Disclaimer**_

A/N: So instead of starting a new story completely, I'm just going to pick the plot back up. It won't be terribly long, maybe three or four chapters, give or take. You'll probably really like this chapter--we get nearly all Vincent's POV.

_**Time**_

Vincent didn't hate hospitals. Everyone else did, but he didn't. He found the cold, white sterile surroundings to have a detached comfort to them. The booths that littered the halls, filled with flowers and gifts, bright spots of color. He knew a lot about hospitals, their routines, their ins and outs. They were generally alike, especially in their procedures. All medical places had a standard they had to live up to. All he ever had to do was foot-mark the place and he had it made.

Hospitals were not as easy to infiltrate as all of that, however. On more than one occasion, when he'd had to step in and finish a mistake another contractor had made, he'd nearly been caught. He found that having information on the nurses' rounds was very helpful to avoid that situation. Plus there was the fact that each and every room was about the size of a large closet, and if there was even so much as a single guard posted at the door, entry was nearly impossible. Distractions had become a necessary art. He was glad when he was able to go into business for himself, and he didn't have to take the stupid hospital jobs anymore.

But that wasn't why he was here. It was a busy night in this place. There had been an overturned bus about six blocks away and this emergency room was filled with the wounded. Many were minor, but there were a few serious, and they got first priority. He could hear the medical jargon all around him, understanding a little, not caring about the rest.

His ears were set for a name.

He knew it was a foolish thing, but he didn't know what else to listen for. His information wasn't as good anymore. He missed his old employers simply for the fact that they were extremely well connected. They could have told him her name now. Because it certainly wasn't Victoria Potter anymore.

He sat down in the waiting room, finding a single empty spot in a linoleum chair that had three holes in the seat and a big crack along the back. He found that he blended in rather well. There were a few other men there wearing their hooded sweatshirts up tonight, on account of the light spit of rain that was covering the city. He'd never considered Indianapolis a beautiful city, but in the haze of the rain and with the approach of winter in the air, he could see the appeal he'd been missing.

Still, if forced to choose, he would take Chicago any day.

He'd picked a very non-discriminate color - sweatshirt gray, nothing on the front, not even a college emblem. Thick jeans that were slightly too big, a wide belt to keep them in place. Hands stuffed in the slinging pockets in front to keep them warm, but mostly because he didn't want her to recognize him.

If she was even here. It wasn't entirely out of his imagination that he'd been sold a dud. It happened. If it had happened now, he knew how to take care of it. It was just more time lost.

Vincent watched the world pass by him. A woman came in with a baby, the baby looked an off-shade of blue. A nurse started her on paperwork, and then another woman approached, wearing the long white coat of a doctor, like in a television program.

Brown hair, having been streaked to take away the black. Contacts in her eyes, altering the color slightly. But her profile was still the same.

"Dr. Lancing," the nurse said, "room seven is open."

Dr. Lancing...so Victoria had a new last name. He wondered if she had friends here, people who would call her by her new first name so he could hear it. The two disappeared into a small room with a seven outside the door. He didn't see her again for a while. When she came out, she was pushing back her hair from her face, which clung to it in sweaty strands. She disappeared a second time around a corner, and Vincent waited.

Gradually, the chaos around him calmed. The people thinned out, the sounds lowered. The entire room seemed to cool. "Dr. Lancing" came out of the maze behind her as a woman entered pushing a large carriage.

The woman with the carriage was obviously not a patient. She didn't have the strained, scared look on her face that the other mother had. Plus, Victoria's eyes lit up when she saw her, and she quickened her pace to approach her.

"Cindy," Victoria said in greeting.

"Hello, Sarah," Cindy replied, pulling back the hood on the carriage. "We thought we'd stop by and say hello."

"I'm so glad you did," Victoria said, bending down into the carriage. Her hands went in, unbuckling something, and then they came out holding a baby.

A baby boy, with thick, dark hair on his head and cooing happily to see his mommy.

Victoria. That was her baby. Their baby. And he'd caught her new first name..."Sarah." He wasn't sure what he thought of it. He didn't think she looked like a Sarah. Or maybe it was the highlights, the highlights did help make her look more like a Sarah.

Victoria cuddled the baby close to her, kissing him repeatedly. In her arms, he wiggled his own little fat ones, kicked his feet playfully, and she pressed her finger against his lips, moving up and down rapidly so he could make a noise that vibrated with the movement of her finger.

"I can't believe you taught him that!" Victoria laughed. Vincent looked up a little more as she laughed. He couldn't recall too many times he'd heard her laugh. There hadn't been a lot of laughing moments in their relationship. He could remember throaty chuckles, sarcastic throwaways caused by a bad situation, and the nights they spent together in Mexico, her soft giggles when he was in a particular mood...

He blinked. He was losing his touch, to let himself get distracted like that.

He watched her play with her son, watched the motherhood wash over her, change her, bring out all those things in her he thought only he had ever seen. He felt himself smiling to see her like this. He was glad she was happy. She looked happy. She looked content. She looked like she was getting her life back in order, getting it to be the way she had tried to make it before, but had failed at miserably. He wondered how exactly she was able to practice medicine again, but had a suspicion that Prosecutor Farrell had probably had a hand in it. That woman couldn't live without seeing justice served, to everyone.

Except maybe him. She didn't like him. He could still remember the guarded hatred in her eyes every time she looked at him. No, she never showed it. But it was there. He didn't blame her at all. After all, he had tried to kill her. Fair was fair.

"Something funny happened this evening," Cindy said, as the playing calmed a bit and the baby boy became fascinated with his surroundings, which were new, compared to his mother, which wasn't.

"What?" Victoria asked.

"Well, I was getting ready to take Charles out--" Charles, she'd picked Charles... interesting name, he sort of liked it-"and this woman was at the speaker to the apartment. She was asking for a Dr. Potter."

Victoria stopped. Vincent saw the color begin to fade from her flushed cheeks. "Potter?" she echoed.

"Yeah, really weird. I asked her if she meant Dr. Lancing, but she said no, she wanted Dr. Potter. I told her she had the wrong apartment. She was pretty insistent about having the right place, though-"

"Did you get her name?" Victoria asked.

"No, she wouldn't give it, which was just rude, if you ask me. I saw her on the security cameras. I hate those things, they use the night-vision green? Made her hair look completely white."

Vincent took a sharp breath. So his information had been correct. He'd been hoping it was wrong, that he'd come here and find everyone all right and calm, and he could slip back to his new life - not that there was much to go to - and let Victoria alone. Maybe he could still do that.

"Anyway, I waited a bit before leaving, just to make sure she was gone," Cindy said. "Just seemed really weird. If she shows up again, you want me to call the police?"

"Probably a good idea," Victoria said. "Although I wouldn't trust Marion County Cops with handling a parking ticket."

Cindy chuckled. "Well, I'm sure it was nothing, really. But I'll call them if it happens again, anyway." Victoria reluctantly gave the baby back to the woman, Cindy, and there was a sadness in her face. Yes, it had been there before, but it was more clear now. It hung over her, a shadow. But she pushed it back, as surely as she did the stray strands of her hair, waved goodbye to the woman, kissed her son one more time, and went back to work.

Vincent didn't see her again that night.

The woman, Cindy, however, took a few minutes getting out. The wheels on the carriage, although it was obviously top-quality and brand new, were being stubborn. As she pushed the carriage out the sliding doors, she stopped at the curb and wrestled with the hood to get it to cover the baby again.

Vincent walked past them. He slowed down as he neared the front of the carriage, and the baby, Charles, was sitting up, pushed away from the back of the carriage, looking up and around, and Vincent saw his own eyes staring back at him in a wide-eyed wonder.

8888888888

Time passes. Time always passes. Whether liked or not, it was an inevitable fact. The seconds became minutes, into hours, days, weeks, months. Six of them. Three of them were spent in the safety of her home. Taking care of Charles. Finding herself again. Rediscovering who she was, finding out the new person she had become. She went back to church. She took a priest into confidence and confessed her life. And at night, she still thought of Vincent.

As much as she tried not to, she knew she still loved him.

She'd been working at the hospital for three months. Night shifts, usually, and in the ER. It was the easiest position to fill, the place where she was least noticed, and the best hours. During the day she could be home with Charles, and go to work in the evening, and there was a wonderful woman, her name was Cindy, who was a nanny, and she liked the nights. She was very much a night person, and it was a good relationship. Cindy watched Charles from about eight in the evening to eight in the morning, a twelve hour shift that Dr. Sarah Lancing could afford, considering she used her pay for little else. Plus there were Cindy's meals, all taken care of, and the benefits of short naps if she needed them while Charles slept. He usually didn't sleep until a few hours after his mother had gone to work, around ten, woke up around four, was awake until eight and then went to sleep again when his mommy did, a not-so-small blessing, for at least another two hours.

His mother didn't sleep much, anymore.

The hospital was a good place to work, especially at night. Sure, it could be crazy at times, but it was rarely so. The bus overturning was a rare accident, and there had been mostly lacerations and bruised bones, only a few seriously injuries which were easily fixable.

Most nights, however, it was quiet. Cindy would stop in, if she could, if the weather permitted and the hospital wasn't too busy, and Dr. Lancing could say hello to her baby boy.

But then came the story about the woman looking for Dr. Potter. And she was suddenly Victoria again, feeling more alone and scared than ever.

Still, it was entirely possible that it was a coincidence. Just because the security cameras showed the woman as having white hair didn't mean it was Claudia. They did use the green-tint night vision, which made everything look white or green.

By the end of her shift, she was almost sure it was nothing, and she wasn't going to worry about it.

8888888888

Victoria was living in a nice place, Vincent decided. A condo, a bit yuppie, but it seemed to have a certain kind of elegance to it that suited her. How she afforded such a place was a bit beyond him, although when he thought hard about it, he was sure there had been at least two million dollars left of what they'd gotten from Shakespeare. It impressed him that she would spend it. Then again, what choice did she have? Be a single working mother, slaving away, all her money going to pay for a nanny and the other bills? Never a time to rest? No savings for her son? No, that wasn't Victoria. She was practical. And after everything, she probably felt there was enough distance between her and the money's source to justify it. Especially since she wasn't using it for herself, but for her son.

It didn't take long to spot a figure lurking a block away, within view of the complex, but not close enough to be alarming. Vincent's trained eye recognized the techniques immediately. And the figure.

He waited, hidden, for the figure to disappear inside a building that looked like a brownstone, slightly older than the rest. He watched patiently, and then saw a dim light come on in the foremost corner. There was a window, blinds drawn tightly over it, and there was something protruding from between the overlaying panels, something round.

Surveillance equipment. Softly, he slipped into the building, after having counted the floor and memorized the location. He moved through the hallways, careful not to make any sound. There were enough sounds around him to cover his steps, but not from her. She would probably sense him. She had probably tuned all her senses for him, expecting him at any moment. He wouldn't do anything stupid like break in on her. He would just find her door, check out the security she had on it.

It was a plain, wooden door, the numbers 23F on the front. He pressed against the wooden panel, feeling for the metal of the locks, finding two of them and a chain. There was a peep hole, which he quickly covered with a spot of glue. Then, he slipped out, knowing she was inside, and determined himself to wait, even if it rained all freaking night, to see if she went anywhere, did anything, talked to anyone.

If this was a trap, he needed to know all the ins and outs.

He walked across the street, planting himself at a bus stop, very much alone at two in the morning. Victoria had been at work for a while now, and the neighborhood was silent. This wasn't Los Angeles, he noted dryly, or even Chicago. It did sleep, or take heavy, long naps. It was comforting, though, knowing their was normalcy somewhere, that these people probably knew each other, that at the same time in the morning they got up, drank their coffee, kissed each other goodbye and went off to work in the normal world.

And his Victoria was the opposite. It was fitting.

As he waited, the back of his head went over the details again. He'd gotten wind of this from a highly unlikely source, if his deductive skills were still intact. Somehow, Annie had managed to inform him of it. Why the Prosecutor would be interested, or how she would even be able to do such a thing, it was beyond him. He figured it was partly on account of the fact that with his testimony, she had effectively buried Felix for the rest of his life. Say what you will, the woman didn't hold a grudge once someone had done her a good turn. Not that that was ever his intention, it was just a matter of convenience.

There was movement. Upstairs. She was adjusting the telescope - no, she was removing it. And it was being replaced by something thinner.

He realized with a shock that there must have been a hole cut through the glass, because the new scope was sliding right through, out into the open air.

He heard a pop, then something shatter. He looked toward the condos, saw Victoria's bedroom window became a glass spider web. He looked back toward the scope, now what he knew to be the barrel of a sniper's rifle, and it had withdrawn. The blinds flapped as the air passed through, rattling them slightly. The dim light faded, and Vincent felt his feet begin to surge toward the door, determined to go after her.

Then, he stopped. What had Claudia been shooting at? The nanny, of course. As a message to Victoria. Victoria would come home and find her nanny dead and her son screaming his head off from fear and neglect, and it would totally demolish her. Plus, God knew what could happen to little Charles now.

His feet seemed to begin to argue with him. He didn't have a fatherly instinct in his body, but when it came to Victoria, the thought of her good seemed to suddenly overrun everything else. He should chase Claudia, catch her. But no doubt she had a good escape route planned, and if he failed to catch her, how much time would he waste chasing after her? Besides, if shooting the nanny was a warning, she was going to be back.

His feet turned. He ran toward the condo. He pressed the buzzer wildly until someone let him in, just to make him stop. He ran up the stairs and when he reached the condo of the shattered window, he had to gather all his wits about him to get the door open. He never went anywhere without the ability to pick a lock, be it professional tools or the simple matter of a few sharp metal objects.

The woman was on the floor, in the bedroom, in a pool of blood. The bullet had hit her shoulder, but she was alive. Alive and writhing in agony. Vincent knew what that wound felt like, he'd had it himself.

Claudia hadn't been aiming to kill, just to really, really make a painful mess.

Vincent picked up the phone. The nanny - Cindy - was making strange rattling noises in her chest. The bullet had shattered bone and sent some of it into her lungs. She could barely breath, let alone move.

From the next room, Charles began to howl.

He dialed 911.

8888888888

When they brought her in, Victoria was currently the only doctor in the emergency room. It was nearly two-thirty in the morning, she was enjoying a quick break with a cup of coffee. The paramedics came in, with Cindy strapped to the table. One of them walked directly up to her, holding Charles in his carrier in one hand, and a note in the other.

"Dr. Lancing?" he said.

Victoria looked down at her son, not quite registering what was going on.

"Dr. Lancing!" came a shout, "major bleeding, we got to get her prepped now!"

"This note was left for you. This is your son?" the paramedic said quickly, handing her the note.

She took it. It read: _To whom it may concern, this woman is the nanny for Charles Lancing, son of Dr. Sarah Lancing. Please deliver him to his mother in the ER at St. Margaret's Hospital_.

"Yes, yes," Victoria said, clutching for her son. A nurse she knew very well, Tonya, came up beside her, taking the baby.

"Go to work, Doctor," she said. "I'll watch your son."

So Victoria did.

* * *

A/N: First of all, I'd like to thank everyone whose ever sent in a review. That is so important and it's been the main reason I've kept writing this story, even though I seem to be moving out of my Tom Cruise obsession. But a good story and loyal readers are very important. So thank you, really, from the bottom of my heart.

That being said, I've written more chapters for Solace than for Soulless, and Soulless has more reviews! What gives? I guess Warm Mittens and Sweet Treats not kicking in really did some damage. So you hear that girls? You'd better get to reviewing! :) I'm really kidding. Well, half-way, anyway.


	14. Vincent

_**Vincent**_

The bullet had completely passed through Cindy's body. Her right shoulder was shattered, clavicle damaged to the point where she would need reconstructive surgery and a few metal pins to keep everything in place. The tricky part, however, had been the shards of bone in her organs, especially in her lungs. It had taken a while to fish them all out and close up the holes. By the time the whole thing was done, in about two and a half hours, she was resting as comfortable as she could be, heavily dosed and on breathing support until her lungs healed.

Victoria stumbled out of the operating room and peeled off her bloody gloves, the mask, the blue cap of her hair. She even ripped off the blue gown and tossed it into the trash, not thinking. Dazed and confused, and also recovering from the intensity of the previous situation, she could do little else other than stumble over to the desk.

Tonya had put Charles safely behind the counter, keeping a careful eye on him while she handled all the various pieces of paper that came across her desk. When Victoria approached, she stood up and handed the woman a very cold bottle of Aquafina, which Victoria took, opened and swallowed heavily.

"Where's my baby?" she said, recovering.

Tonya pointed, and Victoria stepped up behind the raised desk and bent down, disappearing to see to her son.

"I already checked him over, and the paramedics assured me that he was fine," Tonya said.

Victoria pulled the baby out of his holder and cuddled him. His cheeks were slightly sticky from the tears he'd shed. Poor thing had probably been scared out of his mind.

"Dr. Lancing?" Tonya said, holding the note. "Who could have written this?"

Victoria took the paper. She read it again, as if she didn't remember reading it before. "I...I don't know. Definitely a man's writing. Cindy didn't have a boyfriend, as far as I knew."

"Seems unlikely that the shooter would go through the trouble. There must have been someone else in your apartment."

Victoria shook her head. "Best leave the detective work to the police, yeah?" she said, sitting down in the empty chair and cradling Charles. She stared down at the note. She had always had a singular knack with handwriting, but had never gone anywhere with it. She could easily tell the difference between a woman's hand and a man's, and this was definitely masculine.

She looked down. There was a scribble before the abbreviation for doctor. She squinted, pulled the paper closer. Under the ink, an uppercase V had been scratched out.

Whoever had started to write this note had started to write the name Victoria.

She paled, her grip on Charles going a little slack. The baby started to wiggle uncomfortably, she adjusted him on her lap.

"Dr. Lancing?" Tonya said. "Did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry?" Victoria said, looking up. Two policemen stood at the counter.

"Dr. Sarah Lancing?" the first one, older and blond, asked.

"I'm Officer Toats, this is Officer Manning. We've been sent to bring you to the station. Your home has become the scene of a crime, and we'll need to ask you some questions."

Victoria stood up, Charles in her hands. She looked around, as if unsure. "Right now? I'm currently the only doctor on shift."

"I'll take care of it, Dr. Lancing," Tonya said.

"This is important, Dr. Lancing," Officer Manning said. "Your nanny was shot by a sniper rifle at a considerably distance. Do you have any enemies that might have done this?"

Victoria just shrugged. She had no idea what to say. So she did the only thing she could think to do. She went with them, and requested to call a friend of hers, who happened to be Detective Ray Fanning.

8888888888

"Victoria, what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Ray," she said, her voice low. It was a small, quiet room, ensuring her absolute privacy. In the age of cellular phones, the novelty of a phone booth was almost alien, but this was a small room, with a table and a chair, a place for her to be relatively comfortable. As if that could possibly exist at the moment. "I've got a really big problem."

"Talk."

"Someone shot my nanny with a sniper rifle. You know anyone who would want to do that? Anyone capable?"

"Wait a second. Where are you?"

"I'm at a police station in Indianapolis...I didn't catch the precinct number. They brought me in for questioning because they want to know if I have any enemies. Do I have enemies, Ray?" The tone of her voice was nearly sarcastic, but he understood.

"Okay, you sit tight, I'm going to make a few calls. You need to ask for a lawyer."

"But I'm not under suspicion. They just want to know if I have any idea who did this."

"Most people would have just lied."

"I'm not most people. Plus..." she hesitated. _Nanny_. He had to have figured it out by now. "Ray, I have a baby."

"I figured."

"I don't want him to be in danger. This is too much."

"I know, I understand. Look, I'm already on the other line contacting some people. I'll come myself if I have to. You need to ask specifically where you are. I have to know."

"Okay." She sighed, feeling slightly comforted...slightly. At least someone was behind her this time, someone on the right side of the law.

Although she couldn't help but think that if Vincent were here, this mess would be half over, rather than just started.

"So what do I tell them in the meantime?"

"Ask for the lawyer. Don't answer any questions until they give you one. I don't care if they hold you all night-"

"Ray, my nanny was shot. I have to get back to my baby."

"Where is he now?"

"He's...at work, under the care of a friend."

"You're going to just have to call your friend and make sure she or he or whoever can watch the baby a little while longer."

Victoria sighed, deeply. "All right," she murmured.

"Victoria, don't worry," Ray said, his voice low. "We're going to take care of this."

She flinched. "It's Claudia, isn't it?"

"You're pretty quick to start naming suspects," Ray muttered. "How do you know it isn't a certain ex-contract killer?"

Victoria felt her teeth press together involuntarily. "He's never do that," she said.

"You so sure?"

"Yessss." Real anger now. If he pushed any farther she was going to slam down the phone and to hell with whatever happened next. But, her reason chided her, she had to think of Charles. Charles above all things, even her pride, most especially her heart.

"Okay, fine. I'll be in touch." And he hung up.

8888888888

At about four thirty in the morning, there was a county defender passing through who agreed to talk to Victoria in confidence. Once it was explained that Victoria was in Witness Protection, everything changed. She was released unconditionally as the woman, her name was Rebecca Gates, gave her her number and told her they would contact the right people. In return, Victoria gave them Ray's contact number, and went back to the hospital.

Victoria entered the room where Cindy was resting. Charles was asleep in his carrier, safe and sound under the care of Tonya and another nurse who had just come on duty and instantly fallen in love with the little baby. She did the precursory check of all of Cindy's vitals, saw that she was still stable, and breathed a soft sigh.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. A part of her wanted to scream, to carry on, to force God to call a time out. It wasn't right that after all this, it still wasn't over. Claudia still dogged her steps.

She thought about Vincent. Thought about in so intently that she let out a small, longing moan. She covered her face with her hands, rubbing away the exhaustion. Where was he now? Was he safe? Or had Claudia taken care of him first before coming after her? The thought was unbearable. And yet it was equally unbearable to think that she was in such danger, and absolutely alone. She never fully realized the benefits of being with Vincent - he had always kept her safe, always rescued her, always done whatever it took to ensure her safety.

But he wasn't here.

She wished to God he was here.

"Victoria?"

She closed her eyes. No, she had imagined it. She had just been a victim of wishful thinking. Intense emotions were capable of causing the mind to play tricks on itself. He wasn't there, in the room, behind her. He wasn't standing behind her, in the darkened corner. _He wasn't there_.

She heard a footstep. "Victoria," he said again, and he knew she was aware of him, he could read her so easily, but no, she told herself, he wasn't there, she was imagining him. She told herself this, so that when she turned around and saw nothing, her heart wouldn't break from the disappointment.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned around, wanting to go faster, wanting to show her eyes and her stupid brain that her heart was wrong, wrong, wrong...but there he was, the profile of his face in the shadow, that nose she would recognize anywhere, the familiar build, even his height, all familiar.

As he stepped closer, he pushed back the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing. His hair was no longer gray, but long and brown, hanging around the nape of his neck. His facial hair that thickened into nearly a beard, balancing out the years the color change added to his features. But his eyes, they were no different. They were still the same bright bluish-green orbs she remembered, staring at her so hard they pinned her in place, held her tighter than any fists ever could.

She whimpered; the strain was too much.

He stepped even closer, one hand going out, finding her arm, fingers sliding across it, as if he, too, wanted to be sure of her existence. But no, he'd known she was here. He had come for her, like he always did.

"How?" she whispered, realizing she was on the verge of tears.

"Don't ask," he said, almost with a smile. His face was so sad, much sadder than she remembered. He'd always seemed lonely, but there was a loss there now that was starting to lift, the longer he looked at her.

Dear God, he missed her as much as she missed him. Maybe more.

His fingers tightened around her arm, and he pulled her closer to him, so close his breath was on her face. Warm and sweet...he still brushed his teeth twice a day. He didn't drink, didn't smoke. She leaned into it, wondering what his beard felt like now that it was thicker, wondering if it scratched as well as his old, thinner one. She noticed that even his beard was vacant of his gray hairs, and she felt a strange kind of disappointment. She had so liked the scratchiness of his graying beard.

Slowly, he bent his head, and she was sure he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes for a second, remembering how it felt to kiss him. She had imagined, in childish fantasies, when her guard was down and she was lonely, how she would kiss him if she ever saw him again. She imagined the passionate kissing of long lost lovers, mouths open, tongues entwined, hands groping, unable to press their bodies together hard enough. Wanting to touch everything at once, to swallow each other so they could never be separated again.

Her hands went up. She took a step back. No, she had to resist. It wasn't a good sign, him being here. Claudia was out there, that was why he was in here. That was why her Nanny was shot and lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life.

"You were the one who wrote that note," she said, looking away.

"I did."

"Thank you for getting Charles to me."

"I just gave the instructions. They're the ones who did it."

She grunted, looked up at him. She'd almost forgotten his adversity to fatherhood. She wondered, when he'd been in her apartment, if he'd bothered to look at Charles, if he'd walked up to the crib, if he'd touched him, looked into his face and saw what she did, every day - Vincent's own eyes, and the same brown hair that was on Vincent's head this moment.

"We need to talk, Victoria," Vincent said, bringing her back to him.

"What about?"

"Claudia."

"I know about Claudia," she said. "Ray Fanning is on his way-"

"Ray Fanning can't do diddly-shit," Vincent said in a very low voice. "I have to take care of this."

"You mean, you have to kill her."

"It's her, or she'll kill us. It's not murder, it's self-defense."

"Your definition of it, anyway." She stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself. "Vincent, when will this all be over?"

"When Claudia is dead, it will be," Vincent assured her.

"So...more killing."

"One more. I haven't killed anyone since I last saw you. I haven't cut my hair, either." He lifted one hand to push back some of the soft brown locks behind his ear. He gave her a tiny smile, hoping for a drop of levity.

"Explains that," she said, looking up.

"You like it?"

She wanted to say something...yes, no, that she could get used to it. Instead, she just looked at him.

"And you and me, Vincent...when will _we_ be over?"

That seemed to hurt him. He visibly flinched. "I take it, then, you're not happy to see me."

The word _No_ was on her lips, but she stifled it. It wasn't the truth. She was happy to see him. It seemed to relieve a tension she hadn't known she was feeling. "I just wish it were on a happy occasion," she said softly.

"Me, too." He reached for her again, innocently, not expecting her to move away. She found herself unable to reject him a second time, and was in his arms. "I missed you, so much. I 't stay away from you."

She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She closed her eyes, felt him so close to her. Dammit, it felt so good to be near him.

"So you saw your son," she whispered.

He hesitated to answer. "I did."

"You know that you're a father now." Her voice had turned hard, almost against her will. She looked up at him, into his face. He looked down at her, listening.

"I know," he whispered.

"What did you think of him?" she asked, nearly a challenge. "He looks like you, you know."

"But he's beautiful like you," Vincent replied. "I saw you yesterday with him. I saw how happy he makes you. I wish I could make you happy like that."

She closed her eyes and gently extracted herself from his embrace. "Vincent, this really isn't a good place for ...this," she whispered.

"I know." Suddenly he was all business, hardening because of her inadvertent rejection. "You can't go back to your condo, Claudia knows that you're there."

"Then where do I go?"

"A hotel, the closest one." He paused. "You could come stay with me. I have a room at the Sheraton."

"And Charles?"

Vincent hitched. "Of course, him too."

She shook her head. "No, thanks. I'll get my own room."

"God, Victoria...I'm not allergic to him."

She grinned up at him, but it was humorless. "Yes you are. You want to talk to me again, leave me your number at the Sheraton. But I think you'd better go."

He stared at her for a long moment, absorbing what she'd said. "Fine," he whispered. He walked over to the small table by the bed, scribbled something on the hospital pad there, ripped it off, handed it to her. Then he left the room without so much as a backwards glance.

* * *

A/N: Okay, gotta catch up from the reviews from last time.

**asd: **Thank you for reading! I appreciate your reviews and hope you stick around until the end. Hope this chapter made you happy...a little, anyway. Our happy couple still has some unresolved issues.

**PAR**: I'm sorry, I've been so busy I just haven't had a chance to email you! But I will soon! Please review in the meantime! My numbers really need it! LOL.

**LunaGrrBack023**: So have you read the RFR stuff yet? JUst curious. You know, Claudia keeps a lot of stuff to herself and she's not very forthcoming, so as soon as I get Vincent to beat it out of her, I'll let you know. :)

**Cerebralgoddess18**: yeah, that thing about TOm Cruise did kinda gross me out. Although I can't say that the people who get to do that for him aren't...kinda...priviledged? No, that totally isn't the word. But Cruise must have a high pain tolerance, considering how painful waxing is! UGH.

**SweetArwen**: Don't bang your head too hard...that can cause serious headaches, trust me, I know. OH, please, you think I'm going to kill Victoria? I'm not that sadistic! LOL

Okay, so I go to the review boards and there are like 13 reviews from Warm Mittens, which was kind of funny. But I asked for it, so I was prepared. Heh. And she says she misses the shout out to her at the end, but she knows she wasn't reviewing so it wasn't there. So here's a special _**SHOUT OUT TO WARM MITTENS**_, and welcome back! You aren't allowed to drop out again, you know! Yeah, whenever will there be peace on earth? I have no idea. Although something is seriously going to happen in the next chapter, which I haven't even started writing yet. 'Nuff said. :)

On a final note, I want to thank everyone on here for being so great. I know I said it before but I want to say it again. This really hit me the other day when I was looking at a story that I had reviewed, and the author had responded to me in the next chapter, and quite frankly, she sorta made me mad. She got kind of defensive about what I said, although I hadn't really criticized it-- I personally thought there wasn't enough of the main characters, that she was giving too much time to secondary characters. I phrased it very gently and even vaguely, so as not to sound like a criticism. And that was just my humble opinion. I dont' think I was rude, but I do think she was, so, if I've ever, ever, ever been rude to anyone, please smack me. Because I appreciate all of you guys and I would never want to do anything that would alienate any of you.

Okay, too much pontificating for one evening. See you guys in a few days!  
SJ


	15. Brawl

_**Standard Disclaimer**_

A/N: Okay, I'm sorry I took so long getting this chapter up. It's been a tough week and I got sick. So I'm sorry if this doesn't meet expectations, I did it all in one night when I should have been doing stuff for school and then going to bed early. BUT...tomorrow is Friday, and I shall have the weekend, and hopefully, by Monday, we will reach the conclusion of this tale. So...enjoy!

_**Brawl**_

_Six Months Ago_:

Claudia walked into the holding area. They had Felix in a wide open space, where they could watch him. They weren't bars as much as they were thick metal screens. He had a bed in the middle, and his private things, out for whoever came to see him to view, sat on a table, neatly aligned in a row.

He was currently sitting on his bed, a glorified army cot that it was, reading a book. He looked up at her.

"Yes?" he said. She loved a man with an accent.

"You asked for me, Mr. Felix," she replied.

Felix uncurled his long legs and stood up, setting down the book. "You are she? The White Witch?"

"Politically incorrect, but true." Claudia smiled. "Although many would say the White Bitch."

Felix regarded her. "What happened to your face?"

It was almost a rude question, but Claudia did hardly more than flinch. "That's sort of the reason why I'm taking this job," she said with a heavy sigh. The scar on her cheek had tightened, but most of the damage was confined to the thickness of the line down the side of her face. As for what else Vincent had done to her...those hadn't been to her face. "I'm a fast healer though," she said, almost brightly. "Only took me about three months to really get patched up and in working condition again."

Felix grunted. "You are a government issue," he muttered.

"I'm a private contractor," she said. "The government just had first dibs on me for a while. But after what happened, I'm not planning on doing another job for them for a good long time. Until they pay my workman's comp, anyway."

Felix gave a little smile, nodded. "So, you can find him?"

"I can always find him. What I don't quite understand, Mr. Felix, is why. I mean, it's a bit late. You're already done."

Felix nodded. "True. But even inside this world, I still have power outside. And it will make a statement. Considering your situation, I thought you were ideal to handle it."

"I am. I will enjoy it."

"I'm sure. I shall tell the proper people to send the payment. As soon as you receive it, I wish to hear regular reports of your progress. Telegrams, if you must. Be as cryptic as you like, I'm fond of puzzles."

She nodded, smiled. Too bad he was inside. She could probably grow to like him.

8888888888

_NOW_:

Vincent entered the building, being extra careful. He didn't know exactly where Claudia was, but it made little difference at the moment, except for the possibility that she could turn a corner at any second. If he was so fortunate. He had his knife at the ready for such a possibility.

The problem with most people in his situation was that he could, quite possibly, let his anger get the best of him. This would cause two problems, both of which Vincent had examined carefully in the silent hours while he waited for Victoria to return from the police station. One, if he was too angry, he could let his passion get the better of him and make a mistake. Two, passion often lead to the desire to cause maximum pain. While this seemed to be a reasonable option, it allowed the receiver too much time to live and therefore the possibility of escape. A quick death was best in these cases. He'd always believed in a quick death. Torture was good only for information. If torture happened to kill - well, there were always possibilities. But he needed no information from Claudia. He already knew what was going on. Felix was ordered this hit, and with her being twice thwarted by him and Victoria, Claudia was the most likely candidate. But if Vincent made her death ugly and public enough, even if it was post-mortem, Felix would get the hint and give up. No sense wasting perfectly good assassins. And Felix had seemed like a reasonable man.

He found his way up the stairs and into the apartment. It was empty, and dark. Not a good sign. He always kept his lights on. Shadows were never an option when it came to your own place. Too many places for others to hide. If Claudia had the lights off, she was most likely there, and possibly waiting for him.

He stepped inside. His gun was at the ready in its holder, fully loaded, extra clip in his pocket. He had a knife up his sleeve, and another closer to his fingertips in case of a sudden charge. And he had cut his hair. Hair was just too easy to grasp in the middle of a fight. He didn't want to give Claudia any chances he didn't have to.

"This is really too predictable," he said in a conversational voice, echoing slightly in the dark. "I mean, it's like a bad movie."

"Not that bad of a movie," came her answering voice. "I thought it was appropriate, though. Considering."

"Considering what?"

"I don't know. Just considering." He heard a soft click. She had a gun as well. So this was going to be even uglier than he'd anticipated. Of course she was prepared. But she always made a mistake at the wrong time. It was her flaw. Her Achilles heel.

"Come on, Claudia," he said, "Let's do this."

"I'm already wet for you, baby," she said, and she opened fire.

He dove backwards. The room was extremely sparse, only the barest minimum of furniture, giving him practically no cover. He grabbed for the door, pulled it close against him, and a few of the bullets went through it, the others going for the wall. One landed an inch from his head.

"You're not even aiming," he accused.

"You think you can do better?" she mocked.

He cocked and fired. Carefully. Three tentative shots, together, in the direction of her voice. He heard the last one lodge into something covered in skin and muscle.

"Fucker. That was my funny bone."

The returning bullet caught him right in the gut.

He raised and fired again, adjusting his aim. His insides were exploding but he pushed it aside. He could not back down, he couldn't give for even a second. He would fight until he was dead, or Claudia was dead, or both.

There was a splattering noise. He'd hit her again, but it was a surface wound - probably a bullet had taken a chunk out of a thigh or something, making a mess but causing little real damage. Bitch of it was, he'd fired too many times, letting the pain make him a little groggy, and his clip was empty.

He let it slide out and reached inside his jacket for the second one. That was when she lunged.

The door that had been protecting him was suddenly yanked back and then thrust at him again, the doorknob hitting him directly in the left temple. He heard the clip he was loading fall to the floor, felt his gun slide from his grip. She moved to kick him, but he caught himself just in time, getting his hand around her ankle, twisting it, fingers pressing on the smaller bones. He was rewarded with a snap.

Her response was to bring her fist right down into the bullet wound in his gut. She pulled it out, thick with his blood, but the spasm of pain had only made his hold on her leg tighter. He yanked, bringing her flat onto her back, rolled and got his elbow directly up into the lower bone of her chin. He heard her teeth snap together painfully, heard her gargle in her throat.

It was difficult to tell what happened next. They were all hands and feet, all pointed elbows and fingernails and heels slamming into vulnerable places. Vincent found himself on automatic, desiring nothing more thank to keep her down long enough to get the knife out of his sleeve, but she was fast, so fast, slinking around him, the light from outside briefly glimmering on her white hair as she moved, the only sign of her in the dark.

The wound in his gut seemed to be widening. He briefly wondered if it was possible for him to continue to fight if one of his vital organs happened to slide out, like it stomach or his colon. He wondered what it would take to get her gut opened up, where exactly he should slam his knife when he finally got it free.

Finally, after a terrible bout with her heel slamming into his crotch, they got away from each other, across the room, and he was able to access his sleeve.

One of his knives was gone.

"I hope you brought two," Claudia said, her knife clicking open. It was a loud snap in the dark room, filled only with the sound of their heavy panting.

"I'm going to kill you, Claudia," he said, very calm.

"I figured one day you would." She sounded so calm, so nonchalant about it. "But really, I'm not worried." She came charging at him, and he could barely move fast enough to avoid the slash of the knife. The whipping sound through the air was like a crack against his eardrums.

"Gut wound making you woozy?" she asked.

"How many teeth you got left?" he returned.

"I don't have any of my real teeth," she admitted. "Lost them about two years ago, bomb in my face. Also took out my knee, the one you thought you broke. Amazing what kind of things they can replace these days, if you know the right people."

He returned the slash, catching her just against her rib cage, a surface knick. She clucked her tongue.

"You know, if we were normal people, this would be sad," she said.

"How so?"

"You and I. We have history, you know. Once upon a time, we were at each other's backs, not each other's throats."

"Don't tell me you're getting sentimental."

More slashing. They ducked, weaved, knicked, backed into corners, bleeding and thinking fast.

"I'm not," she said. "Okay, maybe I am. A little. You were a good fuck."

"Thank you." He made a heavy sweeping motion, and was rewarded with catching something on the side of her head. By the kind of throttled scream she gave, he could tell it was her ear. It made a wet sound as it hit the ground. Severed ears always looked like they were made of wax.

She clutched the wound, her breath going in and out, steadily. She was attempting to block the pain, he had to act fast. He dove again, but she was more ready, managing to duck anything serious. Instead the tip of his knife scratched over the scar on her cheek.

To his surprise, she laughed.

"As I was saying," she said, her tone the same, even though her voice was a bit thicker, "a long time ago, Vincent, you and I were all the other had in the world."

"Times change," he said coldly.

She grunted. "Don't get me wrong. I left you, I know. I guess I just expected you to be bitter about it. Most men are."

"I'm not most men."

"I know. But you are still a man." She paused. "So how's your little baby? He didn't get hurt because of his nanny, did he?"

"Why did you shoot her?" Vincent asked, no accusation in his voice.

"To make you mad," she replied.

"Why didn't you just go straight for Victoria then?" Vincent asked.

"Because I wanted to make a point," Claudia said. She swung, caught Vincent right above the knee, tearing a chunk out of his thigh above it. He stumbled backward, knife out, to keep her from advancing.

"And that point was?"

"You're a not a father."

"No shit," Vincent said.  
  
She snorted. "Please. No macho show for me. I told you before Victoria was a liability. When I'd heard you'd split, I thought you were actually growing a brain. And yet, I threaten her just a little bit, my name happens to come up in the wrong conversation, and here you are, tooth and nail, to protect her."

"I asked for your point," Vincent said, leveling his knife at her.

"My point is, you are totally fucked. Which is why, no matter how hard you fight, you're going to die."

She attacked. It was a series of kicks and swings, which he countered, but it took its toll.

"I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to kill her, and then I'm going to kill your baby," Claudia said. "And now you're going to get really, really pissed, take a wild swing at me, and I'm going to stab you-"She lunged, exactly as she had predicted, her knife lodging into his rib cage. "Like that."

He looked down at her. He felt the blade. It was lodged right into his old scar, where the bullet Max had put into him once rested.

He reached up. His hand closed around hers. He pulled it away, taking the knife with it.

Claudia looked up at him in shock.

"Two more inches to the left, and you would have been right," Vincent said. "That's what I mean about you, Claudia. You always make a stupid mistake at exactly the wrong time."

And he attacked.

8888888888

Victoria stood at the nurse's station, holding Charles in her arms. She wasn't really tired - it was getting on to five in the morning, about an hour away from the end of her shift. She'd been cleared to leave, but since she didn't know exactly where to go, she found herself at the hospital, reluctant to leave. She should check into a hotel. Scratch that, she should leave town. Cindy's family was here, watching over her. They didn't want her around, they blamed her for this mess. Victoria would not forget the look on Cindy's mother's face.

A mother's love was a powerful thing.

She went into the lounge, which was deserted at this hour. The interns would be coming in soon, the morning doctors, the nurses. The hospital's quiet hours would be ending soon. She made herself comfortable on the couch, Charles still asleep in his carrier. She laid down, stretching out to lay one hand inside the carrier, on top of Charles' softly rising chest. He was so lucky...obliviously currently to the pains of life. She briefly wondered if Vincent hadn't been right. If it would have been better not to bring him into the world.

Her hand tightened on one of Charles' small legs. She could feel his little toes flexing against her wrist. No, such thoughts were utter nonsense. She wouldn't have anything in the world right now without him. She would have had to leave Vincent eventually...

staying with him had been an impossibility that was bound to reveal itself in time...

She had drifted off for about ten minutes when she heard the noise. The ambulances pulling up. She lifted herself up, the cheap plastic covering sticking to her arm and leaving an impression on her cheek. A tingle went all the way down her spine.

She moved, causing a horrible squeaking sound that made Charles wake up. He looked up at her, let out a little squeak, and she picked him up, wishing like hell she had a bottle at that moment.

Standing, she went to the door and opened it. The commotion let her down the hallway, into the emergency room. There were two people being brought in on gurneys, both of them cut up so badly she could see the wounds from where she stood. And she saw a thick head of white hair.

She closed in. Claudia.

"Doctor, we need you," Tonya said, taking Charles. "His carrier?"

"In the lounge. How bad is it?" Victoria asked, going into doctor mode.

"Critical. Please."

So Victoria did what a doctor does. She moved to get to work. And then she saw who was on the other gurney.

_Vincent._

She stopped, beginning to tremble. There were two doctor's working on him. His wounds were more clean-cut, one in the gut, one in the chest. They had the situation under control.

Claudia was dying.

Victoria stopped. Should she save her? A few more minutes, she would lose so much blood, she would die. She'd been sliced to ribbons, her arms and legs a mass of lacerations, her throat sliced open, but the jugular hadn't been cut, only exposed. All it would take was a simple mistake and that exposed jugular was going to go, and it was over.

It would be over.

She shook herself. That wasn't her job. She wasn't a killer. She had to help.

_But Vincent did this_, a little voice said to her. _He did it to protect you. If you save Claudia, he could die for nothing._

_Vincent isn't going to die_, Victoria told that voice, glancing over at him.

"Doctor Lancing!" Dr. Gregg called out, and Victoria stepped up. Her hands closed over a thick piece of gauze, pressing down on a particularly nasty wound.

"An artery in her thigh has been damaged," Gregg explained. "We need to get her into surgery."

"Do they know what happened?" she asked as she worked, pulling the mask on over her face, the gloves onto her hands.

"Police found them like this. Neighbors reported fighting, heard funny noises. These two must have been real professionals not to have been screaming and hollering the whole way." The gurney was moving now, into the operating room. Claudia had already been put down. Her vital signs were weak.

"We need pints," Gregg told the nurse. "Stat."

Victoria did not look at Claudia's face. She looked down at the body, at the wounds. She had a job to do. It was...it was...who she was.

Her hands trembled slightly the entire time.

8888888888

It took three hours to get the bleeding to stop, get the blood to clot, get enough blood into Claudia to give her a chance to live.

Why in the hell she'd done it, though, she didn't know.

Tonya was getting ready to go off shift. Somewhere she had gotten a bottle of formula delivered, and to Victoria's amazement, Charles had taken it. She'd even managed to produce a diaper and change him. She made arrangements with a nurse in the maternity ward, and Charles was in the best of care - against regulations, but Victoria was too relieved to worry at the moment.

She stepped into the recovery room, her white coat shed and only her civies on underneath. A T-shirt and jeans were the most comfortable for that time of night. She walked up to the bed.

"Vincent?" she whispered.

He'd cut his hair and shaved off his beard. It was a bit of a shock at first, but it was closer to the man she remembered than the long-haired one who had surprised her only hours ago. Had this all happened in one night? It didn't seem possible.

He stirred, only slightly. Then, at the repeated whisper of his name, his eyes slowly opened into slits.

"Vic?" he managed through a dehydrated throat.

"Don't try to talk," she said calmly. "You're at the hospital. They brought you in."

"Cl...aud..."

He was asking about Claudia. She didn't know what the hell to tell him. Currently, Claudia was alive...how long she would stay that way was anyone's guess. She didn't have high chances, but she was a very tough bitch.

"Don't worry about that. You're going to be okay. Hell, Vincent...you're almost lucky Max shot you. All that scar tissue might be what saved you from a worse wound. It was the gunshot in your gut that was really a mess, but luckily they managed to patch you up. There wasn't too much damage to anything vital."

As she spoke his eyes opened a little bit more, a little bit more. Soon, she was staring down into them, deep beautiful green pools, looking up at her with an expression she could barely fathom.

"You?" he whispered. "You...okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. There was a humming in her pocket. Her phone. That might be Ray, calling to let her know when he would be coming. "You rest. I just wanted you to know ...I'm here."

He gave her the faintest of smiles. He moistened his lips, cleared his throat. He was determined to say something, and she began to wonder what it was that was so urgent.

"I...love...you...Vic."

She drew a deep breath. "The last time you told me that," she said, with almost a smile, "you left me. You're not going anywhere for a little bit."

He let out a small burst of air. It was a pathetic excuse for a chuckle, but it passed. "Yes...ma'am."

* * *

A/N: I only have time for a few shout outs...I promise I'll get to the rest of you at the end of the next chapter!

OMG firegoddess164! I'm so sorry...I think your review came in on chapter 13 and I was responding to the ones from 12. And then Warm Mittens bombarded me with reviews (wink) and after that it all went to hell. To answer your question: Vincent didn't go to jail. He was allowed to walk and then relocated through Witness Protection because of his help with putting Felix in jail. Where he got relocated, though, I never went into that, didn't think it was important since we all wanted him to go catch up with Victoria, anyway. :)

SweetArwen: Actually, I like that idea...killing off the main character and then bringing her back. That is a FUN plotline. Another one I like is the two main characters, lovers, totally breaking up in the end because they realize they were just not meant to be. Not that I would ever do that myself...well, maybe, someday...if I could take the hate mail. I'll have to think about it. Maybe change my screenname. Heh. :)

PAR? Par? You out there? You sure? You mad at me? Please don't be! Please review! I will email you this weekend, I promise! :)


	16. Strength

_**Strength**_

Detective Ray Fanning arrived in Indianapolis on a flight straight out of LAX, a red-eye flight that arrived at approximately 8:15 a.m. local time, which was three hours ahead of his Pacific time clock. He rented a car and headed straight for the hospital. He'd called Victoria as soon as his flight had landed, gotten a rather half-dead answer to his question about where she was, and wondered what in the hell he was going to find when he got there.

What he saw didn't really surprise him.

Claudia was fighting. She wasn't letting go, even though all her vital signs were showing she didn't have much of a chance. Victoria met him in the waiting room, eyes totally bloodshot, looking as if she'd slept upright for maybe a few hours, maybe less. Her hair, which she'd streaked with a lighter, cinnamon brown, taking out the darker undertones, was mussed beyond repair.

"What are we going to do?" she asked as he sat down beside her in one of the cheap green chairs.

"You're alone here?"

"Vincent's here. I'm not going to tell you where. I've managed to bribe a nurse in the maternity ward to take care of...my baby." Didn't want to say his name.

"This isn't going to work if you don't trust me."

"I trust you, Ray, with my own life. But not Vincent's."

"I'm not here for Vincent. Vincent had a clean slate. Claudia took up a contract on his life."

"Looks like she got more than she bargained for," Victoria said over a yawn.

"You don't seem too shocked by all this."

"Shock left the building about two hours ago. I'm uncomfortably numb right now."

"So I'll go talk to this lawyer of yours. We'll get things straightened out. Or have you already called her?"

Victoria's eyes were drifting shut. "I didn't," she muttered. "Figured...you'd do it."

"Thanks."

"Ray?" she asked, her voice just a touch clearer than before.

"What?"

"Why are you here? I mean, why didn't you just refer me off to the Fed who should be here...what's his name? Pedrosa?"

"Because I think Claudia worked for Pedrosa," Ray said, nonchalant. "Didn't want to risk it. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. This whole thing will be over with soon."

"That's what worries me," Victoria said, struggling to her feet. "Where will we all be when it is?"

"Like I said, I'm not here for Vincent. Unless he committed a crime. And if Claudia attacked you or him, then it was self-defense and no crime was committed. You're both clear."

"I don't know _what_ the fuck is going on. Only that I helped assist in saving Claudia's life and I have no fucking idea what I was thinking."

Ray smiled up at her. "You're a good person. That's what you were thinking."

"Lot of good it will do me if she lives. She's a ghost. Nothing will stick to her. She'll come at us again."

"You're exhausted. You need to sleep," Ray said, changing the subject.

Victoria's reply was to give him a look that was supposed to be scathing but really came across as someone staring at a person through a half-dead haze, then turned around and disappeared down the hallway.

8888888888

Vincent's vitals weren't good. He'd been okay when she'd left him, steady but weak. It had deteriorated.

Victoria entered the room as the morning sun streamed through the windows which faced east. She considering pulling the blinds, but there were a few trees blocking the way and they provided enough shade to keep it from being blinding. She pulled the chair closer to his bedside, noticed that in the few hours he'd been here, his hair had already started to cover his chin, coming back in a dull gray, darkened a little by the dye, but still distinct, still as she remembered it.

She ran the insides of her fingers against the stubble, and smiled to herself. So many times she had felt that roughness, in places she would still blush to remember.

He stirred. His head turned to her a little, his eyes opened. As long as he was awake, it was good. But he was drifting in and out, and it was bad.

"Hey," he said, a little more clearly than before.

She ran her fingers gently through his hair and smiled down at him. A small dread began to eat at her gut, telling her that he was going to ask about Claudia, want to know if she was dead, and if she wasn't, he was going to want to know why not, and she would tell him, because his compulsive honesty was infectious, especially the way he was looking at her now, so adoringly. She'd only caught glimpses of the way he gazed at her at this moment, stolen from the past when she looked at him too fast or caught him off his guard. Which wasn't often. She'd always known he'd loved her. Hearing him say it, what was it, a year ago? Maybe a little more? And then again, from this very bed...

"You know," she said, her voice a husky murmur, "it's really not fair."

"What's not fair?" he whispered.

"You being such an irresistible sick person. How can I be pissed at you when you look so pathetic?"

He gave that breathy chuckle again. It wasn't much stronger than before. "Florence... Nightengale."

"I don't think so. You're not my patient."

"Then...what am I?"

She gazed down at him. "I don't know."

He looked back up at her, and then, to her surprise, he lifted his arm.

"Come here."

"What?" she asked, backing away as his arm lifted higher.

"On the bed. Lie with me."

Victoria looked at his chest, at the bandages. She looked over her shoulder at the passing staff. What he wanted...it was ridiculous.

"You're not strong enough, Vincent," she protested.

"Come on. Humor me."

She stood up, knowing it was stupid, what he wanted. She could step on a tube, she could press to hard on a stitch, cause bleeding. She went to the door, pushed it closed, and then came back to the bed. He had lowered his arm, unable to hold it up. Then, with a strength that astounded her, he shifted over, giving her room on the bed.

"Are you nuts?" she hissed, reaching out to make him hold still.

"Come on," he said, tugging at her shirt. "Please."

Gently, so gently, holding herself half-off the bed, she lay down beside him. His arm, the one he was using to bring her closer, seemed to be where all his strength resided, as it was the least damaged part of his body, with only a few slash marks down the back. He got it around her shoulders and pulled her head close to his chest, resting five inches above where Claudia had stabbed him. He pressed his face into her hair, resting there, practically pinning her in place just as effectively as handcuffs and rope. She didn't dare move for fear of hurting him.

His lips pressed against her forehead. A few locks of her hair had fallen against his nose and he inhaled as deeply as he could.

"I need a shower," she muttered, slightly embarrassed.

"You...smell fine." His strength was gone. "I love you."

That was the second time he'd said it in twenty four hours. It was starting to alarm her. "Vincent, you realize you've told me that twice as many times in the few hours we've seen each other than in the three months we spent together?"

"Mistake," he said. "I love you...so much."

Her heart wrenched. "Vincent...stop talking like you're dying."

"I am dying."

The words stopped her heart. "You're not. You're going to be fine."

"No. I'll never...be fine. I haven't been...fine...since we met."

She frowned. "Not fair to blame me," she muttered, hating herself for it.

"Not blaming," he said, and she felt him smile against her skin. "Thanking."

"Vincent," she said, her voice a bit louder. "Stop it."

"Can't." His fingers weakly squeezed her shoulder. "Want you to know. I'm so...happy. When I'm with you."

She lifted her head, unable to worry about how the movement might jar him. He was looking at her, his eyes so large, so set. She looked down into his face, searching for something, anything she could grasp.

"Then stay with me," she said.

"Stay?"

"With me. Don't die. Stay with me. Be my husband. Be a father to our child." She gripped the edge of the shirt that covered him, applying only the slightest pressure, but he felt it. "If you love me, you won't die."

"You realize...you're better off...without me."

"Oh, yeah, I'm like a lottery winner," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You can't die, Vincent. I'll never forgive you if you die."

"Not being fair," he said, closing his eyes. "You're...trying to...manipulate me."

"I'm a woman. That's my nature."

"And mine...isn't..."

"It is, if you let it. You protected us both, you brought Charles to me. You could learn. You know, my father always said that the best thing a father could ever do for his children is love their mother. You say you love me. You can be a father to my baby."

He flinched, turned his head away. She worried it was an emotional reaction for a second, and then remembered the terrible strain this conversation was probably causing. She pushed herself up, touching as little of him as possible.

"Vincent," she said, leaning down close to his ear, "please...don't leave. I love you too, don't you know that? Haven't I ever said it?"

"You've...said it...very clearly."

"Not with words."

"No. Better." He turned to her, and lifted his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She responded, closing her eyes, giving him access to the fullness of her lips, but his strength was gone, and he lay back down, unconscious again.

She extracted herself from beside him. It was time to go check on Charles.

8888888888

Fanning was only human. He remembered clearly how she'd used him and then betrayed him, left him to rot in the trunk of that car. On more rational occasions, he knew that she would have had to come back for him eventually, but what in the hell she'd been planning for that, he couldn't fathom. What did you do with a man you'd hogtied and imprisoned? You certainly didn't just cut him loose and expect everything to go on as normal.

When his anger rose up like this, he found himself thinking of how he could avenge himself and his wounded pride. But those times were few and far between.

Unfortunately, standing over her death bed, watching the monitors tell him how hard she was fighting to stay alive, he found himself having one right at that moment.

It would be easy to kill her, he thought as he looked at her. Just pull out a tube, the one bringing air to her lungs. But then, if she didn't die fast enough, the hospital would be alerted, there would be attempts to revive her, and then he could possibly get caught, and his ass was already too close to getting fired. He wasn't even supposed to be here, really. He'd jumped the chain of command. Why in the hell had he done that?

Was it for Victoria?

Or was it for Vincent?

Somehow, he couldn't help but admire the man. In a sick, twisted, backward way, there was really something to admire. He was always in control of any situation, no matter how crazy. He'd managed to evade everything and everyone - even on his meat-eating rampage through Los Angeles, he'd kept people from even realizing he existed. He was a walking, talking ghost.

It had to take a remarkable person to be like that.

And then there was Victoria. Ray had tried to date her, but it hadn't worked. She was too wounded, too emotionally unavailable. That she would do what she had done with her life for this man...there had to be something there. There had to be. Victoria wasn't a stupid person. She was very smart, although in her youth she had been careless. She wasn't careless anymore.

Fanning watched the beep, beep, beep. He detected, or maybe just hoped, that it was getting weaker, fewer and farther between. Maybe by lunch, she wouldn't be pushing as hard to live. The human body could only take so much, and Vincent had shattered her. Ribs puncturing her lungs, all the bones in her hands and feed broken, a fracture in her skull they'd barely managed to keep from killing her, and then there was the damage done to her organs - methodical damage, penetrating just deep enough to be...

He blinked.

Vincent had wanted her to die slow. He'd known what he was doing. Sure, she would fight. But the damage would get her in the end. It was a slow, painful death.

Ray shuddered. There was something to admire. But he was still a scary son of a bitch.

8888888888

People in stages of anxiety and distress have strange dreams. Dreams, if you're a Freudian, have significance, and if you aren't, they still have significance. They don't interpret the future or tell you your past. They simply give you what is inside your own head.

Charles was awake when she reached him, and she took him in his carrier down to Vincent's room. She didn't have to be on shift for a solid eight hours, maybe more, considering the circumstances, and she wasn't going to leave Vincent's bedside until she was sure he was going to live.

Her brain replayed her conversation with him as she watched the monitors beep out his vitals. She'd told him that if he loved her, he would live. Why had she done that? It wasn't that she wanted him to die, the thought of his death was actually unbearable. But she wanted, more than anything in the world, to keep her conscience clean.

This last year, she'd managed to accomplish it. She'd never realized how dark her life had been before she'd done it, but now she couldn't bear to give up the light. She was back, doing what she was born to do. Like her instinct to help Claudia, in spite of the fact that the woman had shot her nanny and tried to kill Vincent, probably in an attempt to kill her. She just didn't want to go back to running and hiding, be outside the law. It was a bleak country she didn't wish to revisit.

And if Vincent lived, if he stayed with her, if he married her and was a father to Charles...would he be able to do it?

In the beginning, right around the time Charles was born, she would have a reoccurring dream about him. He would come to her home, wherever she was living, and tell her that he was back, that they could be together. And every time, she told him to go away.

It was usually in a kitchen. She was preparing dinner, doing domesticated things. The house was decorated sometimes, like Christmas, Thanksgiving...dreams were fragmented, surrealistic things. And she dreamed in color. She heard that some people dreamed in black and white, but she always dreamed in color.

"I love you, Victoria," he would say. "I want to be with you. I want us to start over."

And she would say, "How? How are we supposed to start over, Vincent? Things aren't like they used to be. I have a baby now."

Sometimes Charles would be there in the room, sometimes he was in his own room, sometimes he was crying in the background, adding tension to the dream because she knew she had to go to him, but couldn't, because she second she left the room, she knew Vincent would disappear, and she was compelled, irresistibly, to tell him the whole truth.

"I love that boy more than anything in the world," she would say, sometimes with him in her face, sometimes with his back to her, across the room. "I won't do anything to hurt him. There isn't anything in the world I would choose before him. He means more than you, more than us."

Vincent reacted the same each time. With the sort of stunned indifference that she imagined came upon his face after he killed someone. Or maybe it was the look he'd had on his face that day with Max, when Max had called him out, made him face uncomfortable truths he didn't want to see.

"Can you accept him, Vincent? Can you be a father to him? Can you put him first? Because if you can't, you need to leave, and don't come back. Don't ever come back."

She would always wake up from that dream with her heart racing and her eyes aching, as if she wanted to cry, but lacked the real tears.

It was true, she knew, as she sat there beside Vincent's bed, blinds now drawn to keep out the afternoon sky, which was simply too bright blue and cheerful for her present mood. Charles was everything - the sun and the moon, the stars, life, breath, everything. She would do nothing, absolutely nothing, without putting him first.

The fierceness of her love forced some adrenaline through her body, causing her fingers to clench the sides of the chair. Charles seemed to sense her change, and started to fuss. She pulled him out of his carrier and into her lap, where he played with tufts of her hair, the collar of her shirt, the buttons that sparkled at him. He smiled at her when she made fake sneezed into his face, loving the "choo!" sound. She held him close, watched Vincent's breathing as it grew stronger, steadier in his bed. His sleep was less fitful, the constant shifting from consciousness to waking finally passing.

He was getting stronger. He was going to live.

8888888888

Dreams were such funny things.

She always dreamed in two perspectives - she was in her dreams, and she was watching them from outside.

With Charles in his carrier, chewing happily on his teething rings, she had drifted off.

She was in a house. It was a huge, beautiful, grand house. It reminded her of an extremely fancy restaurant, in a way - one of those elegant old mansions that was converted for public service. It would switch, back and forth.

It was round, and furnished entirely in deep cherry wood, and some kind of yellow cloth. Everything was covered in the yellow cloth, which had some kind of writing on it - it looked like Chinese writing, Kanji. It was a beautiful, golden yellow, on a material that was strong and smooth, yet soft. All the furniture was upholstered with it, and the floor was either carpeted in an identical color, or paved with it. Even the walls were papered with it. The dark cherry and golden yellow together struck her as very elegant, very tasteful, although as she moved from room to room, she found it more and more odd that the same theme should run through the entire house. She knew that most people liked to vary things from room to room.

The rooms seemed to surround a huge staircase, which led up to a bright place she couldn't see. She didn't ever find the bottom of the staircase, because as she came around the curve, back to where she had started, it was a restaurant again, filled with people, eating high piles of rich Italian food.

She was aware that she was supposed to meet someone here. As she walked past tables, memories flashed by her like scenes from a familiar movie, and she couldn't place them. She was supposed to meet someone, and she was late.

Now she was watching herself - her dream version of herself - run through the front door and into the restaurant, going to meet whoever she was late to meet.

The guy had his back to her, his arms stretched out and around two women, both beautiful, loose, cheap. As she walked closer, something wizzed past her - a guy on a scooter? - and reached the man first. He said something to him.

The guy lifted his head. It was Vincent. Or at least, it looked like Vincent, but he was much younger, and his hair was long, like it had been when she'd seen him for the first time in a year. Long and brown.

Immediately, she understood what was going on. In dreams, there is a set of knowledge you enter with, the rules, the plot. She was late for a date with this man. And he, in despair, had given up her arriving, and decided to throw himself to whoever would have him. Being charming, being handsome, naturally he had many takers. But now, seeing her, he extracted himself as if he'd never wanted to touch them, and came up to her.

She didn't understand why he wanted her. She was so plain. The women he'd been with were glamorous, beautiful. But sure enough, he was with her, and she was apologizing for being late, and he looked guilty and relieved at the same time.

He'd wanted her to come. He had wanted her there so much. He'd gone through all this trouble, and had been so upset when he thought he'd been stood up. She had no heart to be jealous of those women, or even remotely angry at him. So they sat down, and started to talk.

She heard murmuring. Victoria lifted up her head, her eyes opening.

Vincent was propped up slightly in his bed, his color better, his good arm moving. A nurse had come in, and had taken Charles from his carrier, sitting him on the bed beside his father, holding him up.

"He's adorable," the nurse was saying in a soft voice, her hand smoothing the wispy dark hair on his head. Charles was cooing contentedly, giggling as Vincent's fingers slipped in and out of his grasp. Vincent was looking at Charles with a sort of guarded wonder, but there was something in his face, a pleasure she'd never seen before.

Vincent looked over at her, and he smiled.

* * *

A/N: Okay, what's going on? Only 4 reviews for CHapter 15? But that was a majorly important chapter! (SIGHS HEAVILY) Okay, I understand, you have lives. I know. But come on guys, before you know it, this will all be over! I have one, MAYBE two chapters left to go before we leave Vincent and Victoria to whatever fate fanfiction leaves them. However, there are those of you who've been loyal and constant. And even if you haven't reviewed Ch. 15 yet I know you will when you can, so in the meantime:

Warm Mittens: Yeah, I did the math, too, it's like 6.5 reviews for each chapter. Although Sweet Treats reviews are getting us up there.

Sweet Treats: Although, ST, you need to review the STORY. Go back and READ. Heh. I'm just playing with you. But what I can say, you're 14. Man, I remember when I was 14. Or are you 15? I can't remember. Guess I'm really getting old. I'm like twice your age. I was only beginning to write when I was 14, just starting to play with the whole idea and realizing that I liked it. I wrote stories about magical horses. Seriously. THat's what kind of a dweeb I was.

LunaGrrrBack023: Dont' worry, I know you're out there. And as for Claudia being brought to justice...well, depends on your definition of justice, doesn't it? Heh heh...

Byrony Cel: I love your reviews: Good job, next chapter please! That is so direct. I love it. Although I loved your review for Ch. 14, about how you'd wait if those were the results. That's really nice of you to say, considering I plunked out that chapter in one night, until a very late time, and was tardy for school the next day. Actually, I wasn't tardy, I was about 10 minutes later than my usual time, but I'm such an anal wench sometimes...but it was worth it. As you saw from this chapter, Claudia really got her ass handed to her. Wicked, wicked Vincent...

SweetArwen: How about this? Stop me if you've heard this one...one character is in love with another character, and they get together temporarily, but the first character realizes that the second character doesn't really love her, and that she must leave, and then the second character either chases after the first one and convinced her that he does love her, OR the first character tells the second one to go take a flying leap, or the second character just sort of goes on, and the first character is left to deal with the angst and broken heart alone, but manages. I love melancholy stuff like that. I love a story that can super depress me in just the right way. I'm so funny that way. You see Jerry McGuire? If you haven't, stop reading now, but if you have, if I had been Renee Zelweggers character, I would not have taken Tom Cruise back. Throughout the entire movie, I'm thinkig, yeah, she loves you, totally, but not only do you not love her Cruise, but you don't even deserve her. I totally didn't buy them getting back together in the end. He really needed to "earn" her back. It was just too neat for me. GIVE ME MORE ANGST! LOL...

firegoddess164: Actually, I must say in Claudia's defense, that she didn't actually make any attempt on  
Charles, not directly. Sure, she shot the nanny, but she never harmed Charles himself. Sure, Vincent was  
there, but knowing Claudia, she probably knew Vincent would take care of things. Besides, I really don't  
think Claudai was trying to kill Cindy (the nanny) because if she had been trying to kill her, she would  
have killed her. She was just trying to screw her up. Anyway, that's okay, you go ahead and get mad,  
that means the story is affecting you. As you saw from my little note to SweetArwen above, I love stories  
that make people emotional, even me. Angry, sad, depressed, happy, all is one when it comes to being  
moved by a story.

Okay, is that all? Let me know if I missed anything. See you guys sometime this week with the final installments!

AND REMEMBER TO REVIEW!!!


	17. Closure

_**Closure**_

"I've never taken any responsibility."

They sat together, the nurse having gone. Charles was still on the bed, but Victoria had him now, sitting just in front of her, letting him explore the strange, white desert of the hospital sheets. He toyed with Vincent's fingers, and Vincent didn't withdraw them. He continued to watch his son, his face covered with that blankness she'd known a long time ago, the night he'd first wandered into her life for a very long stay.

"I still...don't feel any." He seemed uncomfortable with that confession. As if something inside him had woken up and told him that he should.

Victoria smoothed the wrinkles out of the shirt that Charles had been wearing for the last forty-eight hours. Thankfully, his diapers were fresh.

Charles turned and looked up at his mother. He gave her a little smile as she wiggled her nose at him. Whenever he looked at her, she couldn't resist making a silly face - anything to get him to smile. He didn't smile too much, although he was a quiet baby, happy, even. Occasionally, she could make him laugh.

"He has my eyes," Vincent muttered."

"Yes."

"When I was little, my hair was dark like that."

"When did it go gray?"

"I don't remember. I think I was a teenager."

Victoria looked at Vincent again. Her heart wrenched in her chest. She drew a breath - there wasn't any time like the present to just say it -

He stopped her.

Not with words. His hand reached out and landed lightly on hers. Charles' attention had switched to his teething ring again, and he was sucking away on it happily. Then, gently, his fingers curled around hers, taking her in a warm grip.

"I've missed you. This last year."

Victoria said nothing, just waited. Vincent needed time to say what he wanted to say. Although she sensed what it was, already, she didn't want to stop him. He needed to say it himself.

"Have you missed me?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

It was the truth. Although she didn't understand it at times. Sure, she was in love with him. But she also knew what he was. It was a strange paradox, but love was like that. It didn't have reasons.

"I don't want to be my father," he said.

"Then don't."

"It's not that easy." He sighed, looked away. "I've...I'm not...it's not me. I'm indifferent. I've always been. I like it that way."

"So, what have you been doing for the last year?" Victoria said softly, eyebrow raised in just a touch of a challenge.

"Touché," he said. "Not that. I've...lost my taste for it."

She said nothing.

"I don't think it's possible for me to change," he said. "But I guess I've changed anyway."

His bright eyes met hers - no, not bright, but dark and deep, liquidly green pools. Sometimes the way he looked at her was more intense than his deepest kiss, than any intimate act he could possibly perform. She looked back, taking him in.

"I felt responsible for you," he said. "I've never done that before."

She almost chuckled. "Well, I sort of figured that one out already," she said, keeping her voice low. At her chuckle, Charles turned to her, his hands reaching for her mouth. She pulled him closer, kissing his soft cheek.

"He's a part of both of us, isn't he?" Vincent whispered.

"Yes. I think that's the reason I love him the most."

"You do?" His voice got even quieter.

"Yes. Vincent, you may be indifferent, but I'm not. You do have some redeeming qualities."

"Some. Like."

"You're always honest." She turned her hand in his, palms meeting. "You...." She stopped. "I can't put it into words, you know," she said. "But you have this ability to talk to people. To charm them."

"Superficial."

"And inside," she went on, "you're...real. You have compassion, you have love. They're all there...you just never knew what to do with them."

"I gave them to you."

"And Charles will, too. To everyone. Because he's loved. I love him enough for both of us."

Vincent's eyes drifted to his son. He seemed perplexed. "When I knew that Claudia was coming here," he whispered, "all I could think of was protecting you, and him." He looked back at her, his face like that of a child who has just discovered something and is totally unsure of its reality. "Is...that love?"

"Sounds pretty good to me," she said, almost relieved.

"So I do love him." He seemed even more perplexed. "I don't...understand that."

"I do." She squeezed his hand. "Vincent, I love you. I love you completely and totally. But the truth is, there are things I couldn't live with."

"I know," he sighed. "I know what they were, too."

"Do you...remember? Last night?" she asked, tentatively.

"You mean nearly dying? I have a few vague memories."

"Do you remember what I said to you?"

"A little." He looked away. "Something about me not dying. Although it would probably have solved a lot of problems."

"Don't say that." She blinked, feeling her throat start to close. "Don't ever say that."

"I was just kidding," he said, still deadpan.

"Sometimes that sense of humor of yours..."

"I know." A pause. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Claudia," he began, and then stopped. "Is she alive?"

Victoria let out a low, hissing breath. "Yeah, last time I checked."

"How?"

"What do you mean, how? You didn't kill her."

"I sure as hell tried. She should have died. You must have some impressive doctors here." He looked at her closely as he read her face, as he could always do.

"I helped," she said.

"Why?"

"Because it was the right thing to do."

He smiled at her, his first smile throughout the entire conversation. "You're also good enough for both of us," he said. "But I still think you're nuts."

She almost pulled her hand back, but he wouldn't let go.

"So is she going to live?" Vincent asked.

Victoria shrugged. "She sure as hell seems to want to." She gave him a rather reproachful look. "You really...really...fucked her up."

"I know." He was indifferent to it, factual. "She deserved it."

"Why do I get the feeling that what she deserves doesn't have entirely to do with what she's done to me?"

Vincent looked surprised. "You doubt my protectiveness towards you?"

She wondered if he was being facetious, but then detected the real offense just under the skin. For a man who took no responsibility for anyone, that he would do so for her was more than a compliment. "I just remember what you told me. That you two had a past."

"She left me."

"And all either one of you have ever said about it is that she did it because she felt like it." Victoria hitched, almost afraid to ask. "Did you love her?"

"Didn't you ask me this before?"

"Refresh my memory."

He looked away. "I was so young," he whispered. "There were so many other things going on...we had sex. She wasn't my first, but she was the first one who stuck around. We were...friends. We understood each other, watched out for each other. I don't know, maybe in some way, I did love her. It feels so strange to say that. She's such a cold-hearted bitch."

"Maybe that's it, then," Victoria said. "Maybe you were angry at her for dumping you."

"At the time, I really didn't care." He looked back at her. "I guess...maybe I thought that that was how relationships were supposed to be. I know I didn't like it. I wasn't with anyone since. I mean, I was with other women, picked them up in bars, it's easy." He shrugged. "But no one serious. No one who stayed with me." He released her hand, to reach up and gently lay his fingers against her cheek. "You were just so different from any of them, you know? I told myself for the longest time that that was just it, you were different, of course I found you interesting. I don't know exactly when I started to love you."

"No one ever does know," she told him.

"So you don't know when you fell in love with me?"

"Not really. Although you fascinated me, too."

His hand went back to her, and he pulled her a little closer. "Victoria," he said, "when I leave here, what's going to happen?"

"That's up to you," she said, a bit self-consciously.

"What if we left here and started over again?"

"You mean like Mexico?"

The barely concealed dislike in her voice caught his attention. "No, not like that. Not playing house. For real, this time. Starting over."

"Where?"

"I've been living in New Mexico for a while," he said. "It's beautiful out there...there's this place called Star Hill Inn, they have cabins with all the modern conveniences, except for televisions and stereos. At night you can take tours of the sky using their huge telescopes."

She seemed bemused. "However do you live without your jazz?"

"That's what headphones are for," he said. "But it's peaceful there." He hesitated. "A good place for a honeymoon."

"If you're going to propose to me, Vincent," she said, lightly, "you're really going to have to do better than that."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Fine. Will you marry me, Victoria?"

He gave in too easily. She wasn't expecting it. The tiny smile in the corner of her mouth froze, then melted, as she stared at him.

"Are you crazy?"

"According to my last psychological evaluation, yes."

"That's not -"

"I'm serious, Victoria. I want to try. I want this to work."

"And if it doesn't?" she asked, squirming in his grip. "Vincent, that's a huge risk."

"Isn't any relationship?" His gaze grew more intense. "Victoria, you know one thing. You can always trust me to be honest with you."

"I can trust your honesty, but if we're going to do this, I want to know everything. No more bloody secrets. And no more _contracts_."

"Fair enough. But you're going to have to move to New Mexico."

"Doesn't bother me. I rather like the desert."

Charles rested his head against his mother's chest, letting out a small, bored sigh. He really was a remarkably quiet child.

"So this is it?" she said after a pause. "Happy ever after?"

"That only happens in the movies." He leaned closer to her, just a little. "I just want to be with you. And I want to do it right this time."

"And you think it's going to be that easy?" Her skepticism was pounding against her heart, fighting the hope that rose within her. "What about Claudia? What about-"

"Claudia," came a voice from the hallway, "is no longer with us."

Both of them looked to the intruder, to find a rather disheveled Ray Fanning standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Ray," Victoria said. "How long-?"

"Not that long," he said, nearly apologetically. "But I wanted you two to know."

"She's...dead?" Victoria whispered.

Fanning and Vincent met eyes. "Yeah," Fanning said.

"And how, exactly?" Vincent asked.

"What do you mean? You would know better than me," Ray said.

Victoria turned on him, scowling. "Ray, please, tell me you didn't -"

"Oh, I wanted to, trust me," Ray said. "I thought about it. But it seems that God beat me to it."

Vincent nearly smirked. "Funny, I never believed in God."

"Well, He seems to believe in you," Ray said. Victoria was still looking at him, doubtful. "I swear it, Vic. Honest to God. I didn't touch a thing."

Slowly, she relented. "All right, Ray. If you say so."

"I do. Well, I'm going to go talk to your lawyer. You two are going to have enough trouble on your hands in a few minutes."

"What do you mean?" Victoria asked.

"He," Ray said, pointing at Vincent, "doesn't have any insurance, does he?"

Victoria looked at Vincent. "Do you?"

"I was getting to it. Legitimate life just has too many details."

"Oh hell." She pulled Charles off the bed and set him snugly into his carrier. "Well, I have some money we can use -"

"Most likely they're going to have to discharge him the second he's safe from dying," Ray said. "Looks like he's going to need a place to stay."

"Victoria," Vincent said, "do you still have Max?"

"Yeah, he's at home, though. God, I hope he's okay."

"And you're the mother of my child? God, woman..."

"Maybe you should continue this conversation later," Ray said, looking down the hall. "Here come your persecutors." And with a quick wink, he disappeared.

8888888888

They did continue the conversation, many times, over the next several years. But Vincent's stunted sense of responsibility and Victoria's skepticism over having a truly "normal" life were not enough to stop them from being happy.

Because, in the end, they loved each other. And they trusted each other. Love was not enough by itself, neither one was naive enough to believe that. But as the old saying went, don't marry someone you can live with---marry someone you can't live without.

Anti-climactic as it seemed, Claudia died in the hospital, from her wounds. They were simply too much, and her body gave out, as much as her spirit seemed willing to fight. Neither shed a tear for her, but both made damn sure that she _was_ dead and buried in the ground. Victoria checked the body herself.

Vincent was discharged from the hospital as soon as the wound in his gut allowed it. That was where the real damage had been done, as it made the most simple movements incredibly painful, if not impossible. He spent many weeks in Victoria's bed, not doing as he would have liked, but instead being coddled and nursed until he was ready to go insane. But in that time, he was allowed to get to know her again, and even more, to get to know Charles.

Victoria turned in her resignation at the hospital. There was a big stink over her using the maternity ward as a daycare, so there wasn't much complaint, although her co-workers claimed they would miss her terribly. She wondered if any of them would even remember her first name in five years.

Of course, now it was Sarah.

The first night they made love, Vincent practically scared Victoria to death, as he exerted himself entirely too much for her concerns over his healed wounds. But she'd forgotten how fast he healed, and soon forgot all ability to think as the sun started to creep into their room.

About a week later, the two of them packed up everything Victoria wanted in a small U-Haul (most of it was Charles' baby stuff) and left for New Mexico. Within two days, they were there, greeting the wide plain of the desert as the sun rose across it.

The scary part was, it worked.

They knew, somewhere deep down, that perhaps neither of them deserved the happy ending. And as it was life and not a story, there was no real "ending," but there was a sense of closure with their past. It didn't hang over them, didn't shadow their days or haunt their nights. Each made their separate peace with it, although Victoria still worried, during certain times of the month, of someone from Vincent's past returning for unpleasant reasons. He had to have enemies - but none of them seemed to find them.

It was a beautiful place to live. They moved into a brand new complex of homes being built - where it was, was difficult to describe because the place stretched out so wide it was hard to tell where it began and ended. Plus, there were so many smaller places that were hours apart from each other, places to go and hide, places to disappear. They lived in the complex, made of the modernized casa-style brown clay that gave the homes a prefabricated sense, and yet an elegant beauty in their high ceilings, balconies, and sweeping fans that kept the air constantly moving. After a few years, they moved farther away from the bigger city, although close enough to enjoy it when necessary. It was even tempting to move to Roswell, although Vincent really didn't want to because of the town's strange reputation. He wasn't really into the idea of aliens.

Charles grew up, as happy and well-adjusted as any child. Victoria began to work for a local hospital, and gradually rose up the ranks to become the Chief Resident. Vincent took a job in security - it was something for which he was ideally suited, as the man had eyes for every crack and flaw that could be conceived. He made sure the various businesses with valuable goods to protect were well-protected. As with the fate of many in the medical profession, Victoria's time was consumed by work on various occasions throughout her life, but Vincent was a good father and a good husband, being patient with her, and cautious with his son, deferring more to Victoria's judgment until he had a more secure handle on the concept of right and wrong. Money was rarely a problem. Vincent's most expensive item was his stereo system, and Victoria made a hefty sum at the hospital, in addition to what she and Vincent already had from their "previous life." It was a peaceful, rather uneventful life. Which was fine, as both of them had had quite enough excitement and adventure to last them forever.

* * *

A/N: We have one more chapter to go...basically an epilogue. Because I just can't leave well enough alone.


	18. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

Victoria lay spread eagle in the middle of her bed, drenched in sweat. She stared up at the ceiling, at the fans that spun around and around and around, watching with her eyes. It wasn't enough, she was hot and dripping and felt like she could have fried an egg on her stomach at that moment.

Vincent came back into the room - he'd only been half-out it, and she was too exhausted to watch as he returned, naked as the day he was born.

"I think you killed me."

He slipped back under the sheet beside her, which just barely covered her waist. He pulled it up higher, sliding it over her breasts, nipples still erect. She had turned her head to one side, exposing the curve of her neck, and he returned to it, picking up the path of gentle kisses he'd been leaving before he'd gone to turn the air conditioner up.

She could feel him smiling. "If I'd killed you, you'd know it, not just think it."

"Okay, I know you killed me," she sighed with a laugh. Her legs shifted, the ache deep between them intensifying for a second, then passing. "My God...what got into you?"

"I think the correct question is, what got into _you_?"

She shuffled her shoulder, temporarily knocking him off his path. He chuckled, deep and dark in the back of his throat. "You're wicked," she said, trying hard now not to smile. "Absolutely wicked."

"Would you love me any other way?"

She brought her arm down, encircling it around his head, the soft tufts of his gray hair ticking the soft underside. She ran her fingertips against his scalp in a scratching motion. "We'll never know, will we?"

"Thank God." His hand slipped under the sheets, roaming across the plain of her stomach.

"So what _was_ the occasion?" she sighed, looking at him.

"What, there has to be an occasion?"

Her eye caught the slight red mark around her wrist, matched by the one on her other wrist, she was sure. She gave him a mock-stern raise of her eyebrow. "If you did that to me all the time, I'd never be able to walk again. And neither would you."

"I probably would. I have amazing stamina."

"Tell me about it." She smiled at him. "But seriously...you've been...unusually...frisky this weekend. And don't tell me it's because we're alone. It never stops you when Charles is here."

"That's because I lock him up in the basement."

She let out a squawk and punched him in the chest, nearly rolling away. He laughed, heartily, and caught her, pulling her closer, slick limbs sliding against each other.

"Seriously, you don't know?" he asked when she'd stopped struggling, too tired to even pretend.

"Well, it can't be out anniversary, because it's still two months away. And it's only nine, the big ten in next year."

"Today is the tenth anniversary of the first time we made love," he said softly, into her ear.

She perked up. "Really?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that?"

"I keep track."

"Wow. You're good. And I must say I mean that in more than one way."

"Hmm...how many ways, exactly?"

"Don't push it, Mr. Whitman."

"Ah, but it's so fun, Mrs. Whitman."

"That's Dr. Whitman," she corrected. Then she sighed. "I have to be there early tonight, though."

He let out a soft groan. "I hate it when you have to cover the evening shift."

"I know, but it doesn't happen often. Few times a year at the most."

"This is the third time this year."

"You have a head like a digital calendar."

"Hmm." He resumed kissing her neck. She lost herself in it for a few minutes, relishing the smell of him, the feel of him, wanting for a moment to rub him all over her, but exhaustion prevented it.

"Ten years," she whispered. "That's amazing."

"It'll be even more amazing when it's twenty."

"You plan on sticking around that long?"

He stopped kissing her, gently turned her face so their eyes met. "Absolutely."

"I must really be something, to make you change your ways."

"You are." He kissed her on the mouth, gave her another wicked look. "Up for one more round?"

"Oh hell, Vincent, I won't be able to walk." But she was laughing as she collapsed back onto the bed.

"I was actually kidding," he said.

"You and your bizarre sense of humor." She rolled over, reaching for the clock, which was temporarily covered by a thrown piece of clothing. She noticed with some embarrassment that it was her underwear. A pair of soft, pink lacy things Vincent had bought her a few years ago for Christmas.

The clock blazed "4:00 P.M."

"I have to shower," she sighed, slowly pulling herself upright.

"Sounds fun. I'll join you."

8888888888

They had talked, on various occasions, about the change. It wasn't that Vincent had become a different person - his name was different, his occupation was different, sure, all of that was different, but inside, he was still Vincent. Even though, in mixed company, Victoria called him "Richard" and he called her "Sarah," it was only a name. Eventually, it would be explained to Charles, but that could wait.

Max hadn't been the first person to hear Vincent's speech about "ten years from now, ten minutes from now." Playing it safe wasn't in his vocabulary, and it still wasn't. Sure, he was extremely careful for Victoria and Charles' sake, but knowing that at any time, something could come around the corner...that he always had to keep one eye out... maybe that would have driven other people nuts. It kept Vincent sane.

Wrapped in his robe, he kissed her goodbye and watched her get into her car. It was a little bit of a drive to the hospital and she had to leave before the sun went too far down. Of course, it was going to be a full moon that night, and there would be plenty of light. With the wide open stretches of desert, there wasn't much to see, but it could get very, very dark on moonless nights.

It made looking at the stars easier.

Vincent hadn't realized what an affinity he had for gazing at the stars. He'd bought a telescope and installed it on the balcony of their bedroom a few years ago, after finally doing all the research and discovering what was the best quality for the best price, as well as easy enough for someone like him to use.

_That's us. Lost in space_.

A car pulled up in the driveway just as the horizon had turned golden and pink from the last rays of the sun. Vincent had showered and dressed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans, and came to the front door to welcome his son home.

Charles was looking more and more like his father every day, with dark hair instead of gray, and a considerably smaller nose. He also had Victoria's chin, which offset his smile, with was all his father. Vincent made a mental note to get the boy braces before his teeth could become off-center like his dad's. He'd thank him later, Vincent was sure.

"Dad!" the nine year old called as Vincent opened the door. He was waving a giant hand with one finger extended. The overnight trip had been to go see a baseball game, Vincent had a terrible head for the names of teams anymore, except when it came to hockey. He had yet to take Charles to a hockey game. It was a difficult concept for a desert-grown boy to grasp, but that would probably only make it all the more fascinating. "They won!" Charles was saying, his cheeks glowing. "They won!"

"That's great!" Vincent politely waved to the family that was pulling away. Jamie, that was the name of the boy Charles hung out with quite a bit. The family was big into sports, and the father, Roy, had all kinds of connections to get tickets. Charles was going to turn into a sports nut soon. Vincent made another mental note to start reading the sports section of the newspaper.

The boy hugged him. Being a father had taken some getting used to. Victoria had patiently taken care of the messier duties, like diapers, but a boy needed a role model. While Vincent hesitated, he found that letting his polite nature take front seat and not pulling it back was not entirely effective. He had to get personal, like he got personal with Victoria.

Not an easy thing.

But he was lucky with Charles. He was precocious and sensitive, incredibly bright, the kind of child every parent dreams of having. Vincent credited it all to Victoria and her brilliance, as well as her patient nature, but discovered his own little quirks showing up in the boy's mannerisms. The twitch when he was uncomfortable. The precision with which he could throw a ball, as if shooting at a target. His respect for people who could play music, even his interest in listening to his father's jazz CD's, and remembering the names. He was even starting to develop an ear, and every now and again Vincent would offer him a five or ten spot to correctly name the artist. Victoria disapproved, but Charles was careful to put his money away.

"What are we going to do for dinner?" Vincent asked as he took Charles' bag and starting throwing the laundry into the hamper. One responsibility of domestic life he didn't quite appreciate was laundry, but with Victoria's schedule, which was a little more erratic than his, it was his job, nine weeks out of ten. There were a few books a the bottom, and a sheet of math problems, none of them done. "What's this?"

"Oh, crap," Charles muttered. He grabbed the sheet and climbed up onto one of the kitchen stools by the lunch counter. He grabbed a pencil and got to work. "Sorry, Dad. I think I forgot."

"No, you _did_ forget." Vincent hung up the bag on a hook - he hated the smell of backpacks, there was such a mustiness to them, like old moldy crayons. He grabbed a can of Lysol and sprayed the inside.

"It's cool, Dad, I know all the multiplications. I'll be done in a sec." He scribbled across the page, his numbers not quite neat, but correct.

"Guess I'll have to make the mac and cheese alone then," Vincent said, reaching up into the counter.

"We had mac and cheese last night," Charles said. "Didn't Mom buy one of those dinners in a box thing?"

Vincent dug a little deeper into the cabinet. Victoria was good with the shopping, that was sure - there was a Betty Crocker Cheesy Ham and Potato Bake, everything inside the box. "Here we go."

"Let's go with that."

"It's still cheese," Vincent pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's potatoes and ham," Charles said. He finished a row of problems, then chewed on the pencil. "Where's Mom?"

"She had to work this evening."

"I thought she was the Chief or something."

"She's the Chief Resident," Vincent corrected, suppressing a chuckle. "That doesn't mean she doesn't get the crap shift every now and again."

Vincent put the dinner together quickly, not too thrilled with the oozy consistency of the cheese sauce in which the ham resided, and put it into the oven. It would take a half hour to bake. "So what do we do in the meantime?" he said.

"Could we shoot some baskets?" Charles asked, finishing with the math sheet.

"Baskets?" Vincent vaguely remembered Charles talking them into installing that thing above the garage. He hadn't played basketball himself since he _was_ Charles' age. "I don't know, it's been a while for me."

"That's okay, Dad, it'll be fair. You're taller than me."

"I don't know, your jump is pretty scary when you're reaching for the chips on the top of the fridge."

Vincent set the kitchen timer and turned on the outside lights, while Charles went to his room to get his basketball.

8888888888

Victoria pulled into her assigned space, grabbed her dinner, which was a sandwich she'd picked up on the way there, and headed inside the hospital. She was greeted by various nurses, most of whom gave her respectful nods as they passed her in the halls. She took the elevator and arrived at her office in time to field a few questions from the interns, then went down to talk to the newly arriving medical students, who were getting ready to finish their last years in school. She would have her pick of the crop - she was rather excited, as it was her first time.

The shift passed without event. Life was nice and quiet out in the desert. The most she ever really had to deal with was car accidents, which could be quite ugly, and during fire season, it was a circus. There were times, however, that they would be shipped patients for various reasons. Victoria took a certain amount of pride in the fact that Dr. Sarah Lancing Whitman's hospital was rather well known for its keen surgeons.

She finished at about three in the morning, managing to escape a half-hour early because the graveyard shift doctor had come in early and repaid her earlier kindness of covering for him a few weeks back. She considered getting a burger on her way back home, but knew that she wasn't getting any younger. Sure, she was forty-five, but she had to take better care of herself if she wanted her future years to be of high quality.

It was a shame that whatever it was in life that made you want to keep living it, you had to give up in order to do that living right.

Then she remembered the afternoon with Vincent and she smiled. She was pretty lucky.

He was dozing lightly when she came in. He slept longer and longer over the years. Whenever she worried that she was taming him, he was quick to show her that she was wrong. He was already talking about taking Charles down to a shooting range and starting to show him how to take care of a gun. She was sure she was going to be as gray as him by the time she turned fifty.

Then again, his job in security was a bit more than he let on, sometimes. There were occasions when even the local police requested their help in certain matters. Vincent had related to her that he wasn't the only ex-military, special-ops, retired assassin that was working in his office. In a wide open place like New Mexico, where government secrets were buried everywhere you stepped, security was not a job for rent-a-cops.

But all in all, it was nine to five. Which gave him a chance to practice his fathering skills.

Victoria knew he'd been abused. She had worried, for a long time, that the cycle would continue. To her amazement and relief, Vincent seemed to put effort into going into the opposite direction. In fact, he deferred most matters of discipline to her. He rarely had to step in, and if he did, Charles was very quick to discover the error of his ways. The mere fact that he had never faced his father's wrath seemed to be enough to scare him away from ever wanting to see it.

Victoria had seen it. Charles was a smart kid.

So Vincent, for the most part, got to be the fun parent. That was ironic, if thought about long enough. Oh well...Victoria was all right with that. It seemed to work. Charles loved her, doted on her all the more because he was keenly aware of how much his father did the same.

She shrugged off her clothes in the walk-in closet, taking care not to wake Vincent, even though it was practically inevitable. Her nightgown, a pale blue thing that Vincent had bought during their first years out here, a personal favorite of hers that showed its ten years of wear, hung on its hook. Sometimes she wondered if Vincent had enough to do...he seemed to be rather meticulous about keeping the house neat.

She glided through the dark, the bright moon casing shadows of the cactus plants on the lawn outside the window, and made her way over to her side of the bed. She didn't bother with the cover - she was too tired. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.

She was awoken by the soft shaking of her arm, and looked up to see Charles gazing down at her. "Mommy, I'm leaving for school. Jamie's dad is here to pick me up."

Victoria lazily stretched out her arms to encircle her son. Maybe she should have been a little more insistent about having another baby...but why push her luck? "Did you have a good time this weekend, sweetie?"

"Yeah, lots." He smiled at her. "You gonna be home tonight?"

"Yeah, baby, I don't go back to work until tomorrow morning."

"Good." He kissed her, the dutiful son's kiss on the lips, and she ruffled his hair. "Mo-om!" Charles said, "Dad just gelled it!"

Victoria pulled her hand away, slightly sticky. "Sorry, baby," she said, rolling over onto her back. "Get your comb and I'll fix it before you go."

He raced to get the comb, and Victoria pulled herself upright. He returned, attempting to right the damage himself, but she quickly put the spiky locks back into their upright positions. She kissed his cheek and slapped the comb down on her beside table. "Okay, see you after school."

As Charles ran out, she heard him exchange his goodbye with Vincent, and the front door closed a few minutes later. Vincent came into the bedroom, in a white button down shirt and a pair of black slacks.

"Going to work?" she asked, rolling the covers over her legs.

"In a bit." He sat down on the foot of the bed, facing her. He handed her a warm mug, filled with coffee. She sipped it, nodding her head appreciatively.

"It's that Illo stuff from California, isn't it?" she said.

"Something like that."

"Only coffee I can drink with only one sugar and a spoonful of cream."

"Last night go okay?"

"Yeah, it was quiet. Makes me dread the heavy times, though."

"Please, you live for that stuff."

"I don't live for people getting hurt," she correct him. "I live to help people."

He smiled at her. "Well, you helped me."

She gazed at him. "I'm wondering, Mr. Whitman," she said, "if you know how lucky you _really_ are."

He chuckled, starting his wide smile. "Luckier than I deserve," he admitted.

"So you repent of your former life?"

"How can I?" he said. "Without it, I would never have met you."

She leaned back, setting her coffee aside. "I'm still tired," she muttered, wiping her eyes.

He moved up closer to her, one arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against his chest, and her wedding ring caught the light.

She was lucky, too, she knew. Few people in the world ever truly found solace. And from there, they could go wherever they wanted. As any man, woman and child, they had their own choices to make, their own paths to follow. But the important part is, they were given the chance to choose those paths.

Which was really more than either of them had ever expected from their lives, in the end.

* * *

A/N: So, here I was, all set to end this duology and let Vincent and Victoria go on their merry little ways...and then last night I had a very intense dream about Collateral, and had to go see the movie today. Which is now playing at the cheap theaters, so I only paid three bucks to get in, ching! LOL...anyway, so I'm sitting there, and thoughts start going through my head. Thoughts like....

What if Vincent had jumped on the wrong train? Remember, he had two trains to choose from. What if he'd jumped on the wrong one? And what if Victoria was a passenger on the wrong train?

Or...what if, in this story-theme, Max and Annie went on a vacation to New Mexico and broke down in the middle of the desert, and it was Vincent and Victoria who wound up coming to the rescue?

Don't worry, I don't plan to go on forever with this. You just may be seeing a few one-shots from me in the future. :)

Take care, everyone! It was fun while all this lasted! :)--SJ


End file.
